


Not a Love Story

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!, ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Miyuki Is Not Okay, Slow Burn, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suga is the new guy in town when his job moves him to Tokyo, and he doesn't count on meeting anyone special at his new favorite coffee shop. But as with the best things — and sometimes, the worst — everything happens for a reason. </p><p>Or maybe Miyuki Kazuya is just a pain in the ass like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starrwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrwinter/gifts).



> Here I go again. Also, thank you for loving this pairing with me. I hope the Daiya Exchange fairies bring us good things, but until then, here's this. ♥

Suga’s hand runs reverently along the peak of the sandwich board outside of Seikatsu no Mame, the seventh coffee shop he’s sampled in the past week since moving to Tokyo. Everything about the place teems with promise, from the stylish but inexpensive décor, the hand-painted sign over the door, and the happy faces pouring in and out of the propped-open double-doors.

That, and the unearthly delicious smell wafting through the air. _Always a good sign_ , Suga thinks as he follows the flow of traffic into the shop.

The menu, while cobbled together with cute wordplay for each of its drink names, is what he might find at any coffee shop, but one thing catches his eye.

“I’ll have the Suicide Special!” Suga declares to the cashier. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m pretty sure I need it.”

The girl at the register, who looks barely more than half Suga’s own thirty-five years of age, covers her mouth with her hand and giggles. “We get that a lot. Is it your first time in our shop?”

Suga smiles sheepishly as he hands her payment. “Is it that obvious?”

Kaori, the girl’s name as per the nametag Suga has finally noticed, hands him his change. “Most people come in and say they _need_ a Suicide. It’s popular with college students.”

Finally, Suga squints at the menu board, lamenting leaving his glasses back at his apartment, and reads the fine print below the name. He gasps. “Quadruple shot? Is that even legal?”

“Probably not,” Kaori admits. “But when does that ever stop anyone when they want a good fix?”

“Noted.” Suga drops five-hundred yen into the tip jar and gives Kaori a thumbs-up. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again, Kaori-chan.”

“We’d love to have you —” Holding up the cup with a marker, she gives him a questioning look.

“Suga is fine.”

Nodding, Kaori writes out Suga’s name in hiragana and moves on to the next customer. While he waits, Suga flips through his emails on his phone, double-checking to make sure he hasn’t made any grievous scheduling errors while growing accustomed to his new job as a researcher at a veterinary medicine facility.

He snaps back to attention at the sound of his name being called, returning to the counter and accepting his steaming Suicide from a grumpy-looking barista who looks strikingly like Kageyama Tobio while frowning. The thought of his old kouhai makes him smile, which only serves to confuse the pouty young man.

“Thank you very much!” Suga chimes as he inhales the heady aroma of coffee strong enough to eat the paint off of a building.

Humming with pleasure, Suga takes a cursory sip. Liquid adrenalin cloaked in vanilla assaults his system, and he takes an involuntary step back. “Oh, wow,” he murmurs at the cup, as if it will answer him back. It is certainly lively enough.

He casts a glance back at the register, where Kaori is giving him a thumbs-up, and Suga returns the gesture with a grin as he turns to leave the congested shop.

However, his exit is halted by a wall of solid chest behind him. Suga can feel the paper cup in his hands crush into what has to be the most vile shirt he's ever seen a person wear on purpose. Jaw slack in horror, Suga looks up around the significantly taller stranger as he gasps, "Oh, I am  _so_  sorry!"

The face hovering far too close to his own winces. "Yeah, that is really hot."

Suga's face flames as his pleading gaze falls on the nearest employee, who offers a towel. Mortified, Suga rigorously scrubs at the mess, not willing to look up to meet this poor man’s gaze, no matter how attractive he might be. Or how hard and corded with muscle his chest is.

Squeezing his eyes shut to dispel _that_ thought, Suga groans. “Please, what can I do to make this right for you?”

The man laughs until he clutches his chest. “Sorry is fine —” He picks up the ruined cup and reads the name on it. “— Suga-san.”

Acutely aware of people gawking at them, Suga nods towards the door after his victim accepts his cup from an apologetic-looking barista. “Please, let me check you out —” He returns the favor and scans the cup. “— Kazuya-san.”

This Kazuya raises a brow. “Oh, really?” A smirk spreads across his lips. “Shouldn’t I at least get dinner first?”

Suga’s face drains of color. “Oh! Oh, god, that is _not_ what I —” When he sees Kazuya’s shoulders shaking with laughter, he pouts. “You are _mean_!”

 “Well, you said it, not me,” Kazuya remarks as he takes a sip of his coffee. “That is really strong. And actually kind of disgusting."

Suga cocks his head as they walk out the doors abreast. “Suicide Special?”

Kazuya nods. “I have a long night ahead of me and I figured I could use the boost. Not that much, though.” He eyes the garbage can nearby with a contemplative look in his eye. “I’ll consider that a lesson learned.”

When Suga sees what Kazuya is planning to do, he seizes the cup and clutches it to his chest. “Don’t you dare waste this! It’s criminal enough that mine is now all over your awful shirt.” He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes bulging.

But Kazuya laughs until tears stream down his cheeks, shaking his head as he wheezes. “Oh, you are something else, Suga-san.”

As the horror leeches out of Suga’s body, he rewords his previous statement in the form of, “I mean, I just want to make sure you didn’t get any bad burns.”

“And you’re back to trying to get me out of my clothes.” Kazuya sticks out his tongue. “You’re a bad boy, Suga-chan.”

Suga takes a long drink of Kazuya’s coffee, glad for the liquid fortification it provides. “And you are mean, Kazuya-chan. Calling me that in front of all these people.”

Kazuya throws an arm around Suga’s shoulder and leads him down the sidewalk. “Well, you did happen to make my day a lot more interesting, so I think it’s warranted.”

They walk down the sidewalk, ignoring the strange looks they receive, and Suga wonders what would’ve happened if he had just chatted with Kazuya rather than dump his entire cup of coffee all over his —

Seriously, what is _up_ with that shirt?

It’s a gross shade of green, broken up by some strange leaf pattern. Suga thinks with some yet not much remorse that he might have done Kazuya a favor by soaking that thing in liquid tar disguised as coffee. Maybe he’ll have to throw it out, and the world of higher fashion (or even regular fashion) can celebrate a victory.

Soon, they stop in front of a ramen shop and step into a doorway next to the storefront, and Kazuya reaches into his pocket for keys.

“Where are we?” Suga asks, looking around and realizing he doesn’t recognize the scenery at all.

“Well, I do need to change,” Kazuya answers as he pushes the door open, holding it for Suga. “And you’re probably right, because my skin is kind of starting to itch.”

Suga hides behind the coffee cup and sighs. “I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing.”

Kazuya shrugs and follows when Suga steps through the doorway. “I said it’s fine. It’s just a shirt, and the worst thing that will happen with the burn is it’ll peel. I used to deal with that all summer long. I can stand to take it one more time.”

“Oh, did you work outdoors?” Suga asks, wondering what it is that Kazuya used to do and why he doesn’t do it now.

“Something like that.” The stairs open up to a small hallway with a single door at the end, and Kazuya unlocks that one, as well, while Suga toes off his shoes.

The inside of Kazuya’s apartment is like an alternate universe. The simple furnishings are swallowed by massive swaths of pictures lining the wall. Pictures of _baseball_.

“I see you’re a baseball fan,” Suga offers lamely. “I never did get into it, but a friend of mine loved it a lot. He was a massive Eagles fan.”

Kazuya grins. “I’ve played since I was ten.” He walks over and reverently brushes the frame of one of the many portraits on the wall, one that looks like a team photo. “These are the guys I miss the most, though.”

“Do you keep in contact with any of them?” Suga wonders aloud as his eyes settle on a large poster of some baseball player in catcher’s gear who could be an Armani model if he wanted to be. “Wow, he is pretty.”

The comment slips out before Suga can stop it, and he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it. The ‘it’ that always comes from regular guys when he outs himself.

But it never comes. Instead, Kazuya walks over to stand next to Suga and gaze wistfully at the poster. “I had the hugest crush on him in high school. We kept in contact for a while after he graduated, but when he moved to America to play, I didn’t get to talk to him that often.”

Suga is taken aback by the melancholy in Kazuya’s voice as he speaks of this beautiful man who has clearly been important to Kazuya for a long time. He reads the name on the poster and murmurs to himself, “Chris Takigawa.”

“Chris-senpai,” Kazuya amends. “I’ll never get used to thinking of him with such a Western name, even if his dad is an American. And yeah, he’s pretty. I have noticed that on more than one occasion.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Suga catches Kazuya’s gaze and thinks they’ve communicated more than just the surface information. “So, you’re —”

“Forever and always,” Kazuya chirps as he knots his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “So, shall we proceed in clearing my health so we can get back to our coffee date, Suga-chan?”

Suga sets down the cup and flicks Kazuya’s shoulder. “You’re too familiar, and yes, we should. I happen to be a —” His breath snags in his chest as Kazuya’s deft fingers make quick work of the buttons. With a gulp, he finishes, “— medical professional.”

“Oh?”

Averting his gaze, Suga huffs. “Well, something like that.” He chances a glance at Kazuya, who is waiting for an explanation. “I’m a vet.”

“Good enough for me.” In a swift motion, Kazuya’s shirt is fluttering to the floor, and Suga’s gaze is glued to the muscled expanse of chest bared to him. He closes his eyes and counts to ten in his head before he reopens them and keeps his attention on the angry red patch of skin.

His fingers graze the ruddy flesh, and Suga cringes when Kazuya winces. “So that does hurt?”

“Something like that.”

“Stay here,” Suga commands as he slips into the kitchen and scouts out a bowl and some towels. When he returns, Kazuya is dutifully remaining in place while humming an aimless tune.

Slowly, Suga towels off the affected area before ordering Kazuya to sit with a cool cloth over the burn for at least fifteen minutes.

Next to him on the sofa, Suga sits the bowl on the kotatsu and muses, “Yeah, you’re okay. It’ll just hurt a little. Try not to scratch at it, and wear cotton until the redness goes away. Use aloe vera if you’ve got it, and if it starts blistering, go see a doctor.”

“Yes, Doctor Suga-chan,” Kazuya answers with a salute. Groaning, he slouches back into the couch, rubbing at his knees with his eyes closed. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“List,” Suga wonders aloud, not missing the hiss of pain as Kazuya rubs a particular spot. “Bad knees?”

Kazuya nods. “Yeah. It happens to guys who spend twenty-five years squatting all day.”

“You’re a baseball player,” Suga blurts as he finally puts the pieces together. “Working outside. Squatting. Old teammates. Not giving your surname at the coffee place.”

“I worked out you had no idea who I was a minute after talking to you,” Kazuya says as he drapes his hands at his sides. “I was wondering when you’d ask. Kudos for figuring it out on your own.”

Suga frowns at that statement. From anyone else’s mouth, he thinks it would sound awfully like an insult, but Kazuya is still a mystery to him.

“Wait, I don’t even know your surname,” Suga says as he thinks the very same thing.

“It’s Miyuki.” Kazuya reaches up and tugs on the back of Suga’s shirt, sending him sprawling into the plush depths of the couch as well. “And I don’t really give my name at all at the coffee shop. They know me there, and they’re really good about keeping quiet.”

Suga nods in understanding. “And wearing clothes most self-respecting celebrities would set themselves on fire before wearing probably helps.”

Kazuya pouts. “What’s wrong with my clothes? They cover my skin; mission accomplished.”

Bubbling with laughter, Suga shakes his head. “Oh, you are too cute for words, Miyuki Kazuya.”

“So are you, Suga-chan.”

They both turn simultaneous to meet each other’s eyes, to stutter a breath, but Kazuya beats Suga to the punch when he leans in to brush their mouths together.

“Sugawara,” Suga gasps as his skin dances in anticipation. “Sugawara Koushi.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They look at each other and simultaneously burst into laughter, only stopping when Kazuya grunts and gingerly pokes at the wet towel on his chest.

Suga takes the towel and re-wets it, noting the hiss of relief when he reapplies it. "Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor anyway?"

Shaking his head, Kazuya curls his hand around Suga's wrist. "I'll just talk to the team doctor later. It's not bad, just . . . hot."

"Huh?" Suga's brows knit as he frowns. "You still play with knees like that?"

Kazuya chuckles. "No, I don't play anymore, but I still work for the team. I'm on the broadcast crew."

Eyes wide, Suga stares at him. "You talk where TV cameras can actually hear you?" He shivers at the idea. "I'd probably get nervous and say something stupid."

"It's not bad." Kazuya's thumb traces lazy circles on the back of Suga's hand. "I just talk about the game in front of me as a baseball expert. Critically watching games is kind of my thing."

"Fair enough." Suga gulps as one of Kazuya's fingers glances over his pulse. "You seem like you still keep in shape, though. Most of the broadcast guys in any sport are all old and fat."

With a smirk, Kazuya leans and whispers in Suga's ear, "I knew you were checking me out. So brazen, Suga-chan."

Cheeks furiously reddened, Suga shrinks into the couch. "I'm sorry! That is so rude of me, and I've already maimed you. I'm being inappropriate, and I will leave right now if I've offended you."

"What if I told you I'm not interested in appropriate?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seikatsu no Mame = Bean of Life, or Life's Bean


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW ahoy.

Suga turns to look at Kazuya, looking for some sign of jest, but there is a determined set to his jaw and Suga can tell he is serious. "So that means you want to —" He points weakly towards the bedroom before gesturing to both of them. "— that?"

"Mmmhmm."

Gaping at Kazuya, Suga squeaks, "What,  _now_?"

Kazuya snickers and pokes the cloth on his chest with a wry smile. "That might be a bad idea at the moment, but in general, yes. You seem interested, I am interested, and we click pretty well. Would you find something like that agreeable?"

“I —” Suga turns away from Kazuya and stares off into the expanse of the room, at the sport-laden trove of memories that seems to define Kazuya.

He isn’t ignorant of what he’s being asked, nor the implications of it. Kazuya is, for better or worse, a public figure in a male-dominated profession. There is likely no easier way to sabotage one’s own career by coming out in such an environment, and he’s requesting an arrangement that will not bring that down on his head.

Yet the thought of the word ‘arrangement’ makes him shudder inwardly.

“I don’t know,” Suga finally manages quietly, and Kazuya doesn’t respond.

Turning to him once again, Suga sees Kazuya’s eyes close as he sighs and shrinks into the couch. “I’m sorry,” he answers at last. “You barely know me, and it’s one of those things I know I shouldn’t ask because it’s selfish but I want it anyway.”

Suga shakes his head. “No, I understand. It’s just the way things are. I mean, no one cares if the guy who neuters their cats is gay, but someone who is supposed to be the embodiment of virility and manhood . . . there will always be resentment.”

Kazuya’s head lolls back as he groans at the ceiling. “I hate it. One of the trainers figured it out when I was still a rookie. He told me if I wanted a career, I would have to guard that secret with my life.”

“That’s horrible.” Suga leans into Kazuya’s side and grips his hand tight. “But, why me? You just met me.”

An arm drapes over Suga’s shoulder and pulls him into Kazuya. “I think it was somewhere between the way your face turns bright red when you’re embarrassed, yet still finding time to insult my fashion sense in complete earnest.”

“That was a rude thing for me to do,” Suga murmurs into the fortifying heat of Kazuya’s body. “And you make me sound like a stereotype.”

“Far from it, Suga-chan,” Kazuya rebuts. “You’re almost fatally honest, and it’s . . . refreshing to have someone say what they really think instead of what they think I want to hear for a change. You’d be surprised how often that doesn’t happen.”

Suga hums. “Sounds lonely.”

“You have no idea.”

They sit together, staring at the silent television set for a stretch that feels like forever to Suga as he turns all of this over in his head. What Kazuya is requesting sounds hollow to Suga, devoid of all the things that make being with someone warm and inviting. But the way Kazuya’s voice catches on those last few words makes Suga’s heart stumble, as well.

Suga doesn’t have an answer, so he settles on a question, instead. “How long has it been since you were with anyone?”

Kazuya laughs until tears stream from his eyes. “That is — that is — I can’t believe —” Suga blinks in horror until Kazuya’s mirth dies down, only to reel back when he responds, “Not since high school.”

“What!” Suga’s jaw drops in horror. “You haven’t had sex for that long? How are you still alive?”

With a huff, Kazuya gives Suga a wry smile. “It’s not _that_ important, Suga-chan. It’s just something I want to try.”

"Ha!" Suga punches Kazuya in the arm, not feeling the slightest bit guilty when his face wilts from the force of it. "You're screwing with me, Miyuki Kazuya."

Kazuya chortles. "Maybe a little." He pokes at the red mark on his bicep. "You could probably give an old friend of mine a run for his money in the brutality department, Suga-chan. He could twist me like a pretzel."

"Sounds kinky," Suga jibes, even while hiding his face in his hands. "Forget I said that."

"Not a chance." Kazuya leans over to peck Suga on the cheek and slaps his knee. "Anyway, I have to get ready for work. They want me into makeup and wardrobe, oh . . . ten minutes ago?"

Suga vaults to his feet and hauls Kazuya off of the couch. "Move it, Miyuki!" Dragging him to the bedroom, Suga adds, "And I'm picking what you're wearing."

"Yes, sir!" Kazuya says with a mock salute as he disappears into the bathroom, with the din of the shower coming soon after.

As he sorts through Kazuya's closet, Suga clears his mind by fixing his objective. However, the farther he delves into the sordid depths of Kazuya's fashion crimes, the more Suga's mouth pulls a down into a frown. "God. Who taught this man to dress himself?"

"I'm pretty sure God has nothing to do with that," comes Kazuya's velvety voice over Suga's shoulder. Arms wind around his waist, tugging him back into the damp expanse of chest behind him. "It can't be that bad."

Suga drapes his head back into Kazuya's shoulder. "Oh, it is. You need an intervention."

"Mmm, rescue me, Suga-chan." Kazuya trails his mouth down the side of Suga's neck, lighting every nerve in its wake aflame. "It could be our thing. You teach me how to dress, and no one will think twice at me hiring a style consultant."

Struggling to catch his breath, Suga leans into Kazuya's advances. "I thought you just wanted to sleep with me."

Dragging his lips around the shell of Suga's shoulder ear, Kazuya whispers, "We can do that, too." He plants a loud kiss on Suga's cheek and turns him to meet his eye. "Or not. We can start there. You can burn my clothes and make me spend money. In return, I can make any connections you might need for a new guy in town like you."

"How do you know I'm new in town?"

Kazuya swats Suga's bottom and sorts through the small pile of clothes draped on the bed. He holds up a lavender polo and raises a brow. "Really?"

Suga swipes at the shirt and roughly tugs it over Kazuya’s head. “Slim pickings. Entirely your fault.” Over his shoulder, he tosses a pair of boxer briefs. “Get dressed, you filthy boy.” Next, he chucks a pair of jeans that he’s sure will be form-fitting but not uncomfortably so.

“Those are too tight,” Kazuya complains. “I didn’t try them on. The shop guy picked them out.”

“Remember that shop. We’re going back as soon as possible.” Suga thrusts the jeans into Kazuya’s face. “Put the pants on.”

Once Kazuya squeezes into the jeans, Suga hands him a sports jacket and nudges over a pair of leather boat shoes that look like they haven’t been worn since they were purchased. “There. That’s much better.”

Kazuya grabs the waistband of the jeans and gives it a pull. “They’re a little, um, snug in certain places.”

Suga glances down to the source of Kazuya’s distress and gulps. “Um, that’s kind of the idea.”

“It’s kind of loud.”

“It’s overt,” Suga fires as he gives the overall look a bob of the head. “You have no idea how much better this is.”

Turning to the mirror pinned to the back of the door, Kazuya scratches his head. “No, I really don’t.”

Catching a full glimpse of how the jeans hug Kazuya’s bottom, Suga is surprised his nose doesn’t bleed. “Whoever sold you those jeans, find him and buy him a house. He deserves it.” Sending a final cursory glance around the room to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, Suga’s gaze falls on a simple pair of black glasses sitting on the nightstand. “You wear glasses?”

“Only at home,” Kazuya grumbles as he frowns at his reflection. “Are you sure this is all right to wear?”

Suga takes the glasses and holds them up to Kazuya’s face. “You should wear these.”

“But I see better with my contacts.”

“You’ll live.” He settles them on Kazuya and hums. “You could read the dictionary looking like this and people will hang on your every word.”

Kazuya scratches his head as he returns to the bathroom as ordered, returning in a minute wearing his glasses. “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

Smirking, Suga says, “And you are so naïve. Now get going before they fire you.”

They hustle out of the apartment, with Suga in one taxi heading home with a kiss on the cheek along with a phone number, and Kazuya taking the next one while endowing the driver with a beatific smile and a plea to floor it.

Suga makes it home about an hour before Kazuya had mentioned the game is scheduled to start, so with a hum of curiosity, he clicks on the television and tunes into the local sports network. The cheery blare of the pregame show's theme song reminds Suga of high school and promises of nationals, prompting him to settle on a cushion and watch. After all, he can't dislike baseball all that much if he has a connection to the sport?

And in a flash, he sees Kazuya's grin alongside the play by play commentator, and to Suga's shock, wearing the same clothes he had worn out of the apartment.

They dive into a conversation that supersedes any relevant knowledge Suga has of baseball, but he isn't listening anyway. His gaze is snagged by the casual grace with which Kazuya stands, as compared to his broadcast partner's rigid posture, likely due to the twelve or so centimeter difference in height between them. But more than that, there is a spark in his eye as he passionately praises the team's defensive play and dedication to their pitch to contact style of play.

For a moment, Kazuya once again reminds Suga of a more mellow Kageyama Tobio, with his knowledge and passion but minus the allergy to grace. It isn’t difficult to see why the job was offered to Kazuya; he is made for talking about baseball.

From the broadcast, Suga can tell that the Swallows are not doing terribly well in the standings with the unexpected loss of their all-star catcher. They’re second to last in their division and hurting for runs scored. Neither Kazuya nor his broadcast partner, Osaka, say as much, but Suga knows.

The game follows the script of the pre-show, with stranded runners and little run support for the pitcher and a catcher who is clearly outclassed by the visiting team’s heavy bats. The final score is a perfect summary of the game, and Suga isn’t surprised to see Tokyo’s home team lose by one run but still be defeated so soundly.

Pulling out his phone, Suga orders a quick round of Thai before he texts Kazuya with a ‘ _watched the game :/_ ’.

The reply comes almost when his dinner does in the form of a sullen ‘yeah’ that belies the cold letters that formulate it. However, it isn’t until Suga is full of curry spicy enough to burn a house down and dozing on the floor that another text comes.

_Can I see you?_

Now wide awake, Suga vaults to his feet and looks around at the sea of boxes he hasn’t bothered to unpack. And his lack of anything more comfortable to sit on than a few floor cushions. He frowns at his phone before answering. _My place is kind of a mess and I don’t have a couch. I don’t remember where you live. Sorry!_

_It doesn’t matter. The floor is fine._

Suga sighs as he keys in his address and hits Send. He stares off into the expanse of the room for a solid minute before it sinks in — Kazuya is coming _here_. His feet fly into action, and his hands follow suit as he darts around the room, arranging boxes in a less haphazard fashion and forming a makeshift couch out of his futon and his hoard of bedding.

He knows Kazuya will never admit to the amount of pain his knees and shoulders generate, but Suga won’t add to it.

A half hour later, Suga gets a call that nearly makes him drop the armload of snacks he’s in the middle of stashing near the television, just in case. “Hi!” he squeaks, cringing at his near-falsetto squeak. “Are you here?”

“About a block away.”

“I’ll come down and meet you.”

“I look forward to it.”

They hang up, and Suga can’t jam his feet into his slippers fast enough. In his haste, he nearly forgets his room key, but he makes it down the stairs quickly enough (the elevator is too slow) to signal the lift downstairs and head outside to meet the taxi pulling up to the curb.

Kazuya steps out of the car, handing a few bills to the driver before greeting Suga with a wide grin. “We meet again, Suga-chan!”

Suga can’t help but smile back. “Sorry my place is so unlived-in. I’ve only been in town for a week.”

“I know.” Kazuya reaches out and snags Suga’s hand with his own. “You have a northern accent. I’ve traveled enough and lived here long enough to have a pretty good idea who’s not from around here.”

Brows bunching together, Suga cries, “ _That’s_ how you knew? And here I thought you were some Sherlockian genius.”

Laughter bubbles out of Kazuya until he’s leaning over, wheezing for breath. “I — I never get tired of the things that come out of your mouth, Suga-chan.”

“Oi!” Suga reaches over and flicks Kazuya’s nose. “No making fun of me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Kazuya follows Suga through the door and to the waiting elevator, and Suga pretends not to notice the way his breath catches as he slumps into the wall of the car, eyes squeezed shut. They ride up to Suga’s third floor apartment in silence, and Suga swings the door open and grandly gestures at the tiny space that is jammed full of unpacked boxes he doesn’t see being unpacked anytime soon. “Home sweet home.”

Eyes falling quickly on the lump of bedding on the floor in front of the television, Kazuya smiles softly. “I see you have your priorities. Bed and TV win the argument every time.”

“Of course they do,” Suga replies, rolling his eyes. “What else does a body need?”

“I’m thinking a couch.” Kazuya settles on the faux couch and pats the spot next to him. “Come be boring with me, Suga-chan.”

Suga sits at the edge of the seat and crosses his legs. “Here. Lie back and put your head in my lap.” Kazuya complies, and as soon as they’re comfortable, Suga’s deft fingers begin kneading the rigid muscles of his shoulders. “Are you taking pain medication at all?”

“It’s not that bad,” Kazuya answers, groaning when Suga’s fingers find a particularly knotted up spot. “Oh, that is really nice. Suga-chan has magic hands.”

Shaking his head, Suga says, “You know, you do have the rest of your life to worry about. You should be doing physical therapy to keep yourself going. You’ll thank yourself when you can actually get out of bed twenty years from now.”

“Yes, Mother,” Kazuya says with a mock salute, which is rewarded with a tug on his hair and a grumble of, “You are such an ass.”

But Kazuya only chuckles at the barb and the assault. “So, does that mean Suga’s more of the daddy kink variety?”

Suga’s hand flashes out and lays a rapid slap on Kazuya’s cheek. “You are being inappropriate, Kazuya. You should respect your elders.”

“How are you even older than me?” Kazuya cranes his neck to look at Suga. “You look like you’re in your twenties.”

Lips twitching in the type of vain pleasure one can’t help but get with such a statement, Suga scoffs. “Not exactly. I’m a year older than you.”

Kazuya hums as Suga’s hands go back to work, rolling over when Suga commands and groaning loudly as the tight knots of tension are coaxed out of his muscles. However, when Suga reaches down for Kazuya's lower back, whose face is buried in Suga’s lap, he begins to question the merit of this activity when he notices the sensation of hot breath seeping through his pajama bottoms.

But just the feeling of Kazuya’s stress leaving him makes him want to press on anyway. It isn’t as if he’s an untried teenager, a rampaging cocktail of hormones and acne; he’s a grown man who can keep it in his pants.

Or not.

Suga recoils when he feels the wet brush of lips on his belly, a sliver of skin exposed by his bunched up shirt. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’d really enjoy myself better if you felt as good as I do right now.” With that, Kazuya’s mouth trails over to Suga’s hip to leave a soft bite on the taut flesh there. “Does Suga-chan want to play?” he whispers, his husky timbre frazzling every nerve in its wake.

Panting, Suga worms his way from Kazuya’s grip before flipping him onto his back and straddling his waist. “Maybe Suga-chan does.” He holds up a finger and wags it in Kazuya’s face. “But Suga-chan is worried about Baka-ya hurting himself.”

Kazuya growls as his hands clench Suga’s hips, fingers digging into them almost painfully. “Worth it.”

The breath punched out of his chest all at once, Suga all but squeaks as he leans down and snares Kazuya’s mouth with his. His shirt is peeled off somewhere in the process, and when rough bare hands trace the ridges of his spine, Suga’s hips react on their own and grind down into Kazuya’s lap.

In a mad flurry of grunts and flying clothes, Suga strips both of them down until they’re both heaving messes. But when he moves to his knees between Kazuya’s legs, he stops. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Kazuya raises his head, cheeks flushed, and his brows knit in confusion. “What? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be asking you?”

Suga’s mood is almost completely deflated at this utter lack of understanding. “No, Kazuya. I’m asking you this because you barely know me, and I get this feeling you don’t really open up to people who you don’t know. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“It’s just sex, Suga-chan.” Kazuya shakes his head. “It isn’t as important as all the TV dramas make it out to be.”

With a snort, Suga rolls over and starts to tug his underwear back on. “ _I_ can have ‘just sex’ because I can separate desire from love. But if that kind of relationship is what you want, something that’s ‘just sex’, I need to know before we get there that you can actually do that, too.”

Kazuya’s hand grasps at Suga’s wrist, and the omnipresent smirk on his face is gone. “I can do this more than you know. Just please . . . stay with me.” His palm drifts down to Suga’s hip again, his fingers slipping under the waistband of the boxers. “Please.”

“Okay.” Suga closes his eyes as his boxers slowly rejoin the pile on the floor next to them.

Lips roving over Suga’s bare flesh, Kazuya visits every sensitive spot Suga thinks he’s ever had, and when they sink down the length of his cock, he gives the ceiling a dry roar of, “Fuck.”

Teasing is in Kazuya’s very nature, it seems, as he guides Suga to the edge, only to pull back and watch Suga keen for completion. His self-satisfied smile, however, is upheaved when Suga pins him down on the floor. “I’m going to pay you back for that.”

In Suga’s left hand, he grips their lengths together and shallowly rolls his hips as he traces his mouth everywhere he can reach. He earns a smirk of his own when Kazuya’s breath turns ragged and needy as he drags his teeth over the sensitive hollow of his neck. “You are so wrecked.”

Kazuya moans. “Maybe we should just both quit our jobs and do this all day.” He reaches down to cup Suga’s bottom, forcing their rock hard cocks even closer together. “You are so hot right now.”

Suga nips at Kazuya’s shoulder. “I’m hot all the time. Don’t be rude, or you’re finishing yourself off.”

The resulting laughter is strangled by breathy groans as Suga quickens his pace. It isn’t long before he spills himself onto Kazuya’s stomach, and he rocks his way through his bliss until Kazuya follows.

Out of air, Suga rolls off to the side and grasps for one of his own socks to mop up the mess. “Gross,” he mumbles as he flicks it to the side. “Now I’m hungry again.”

Humming, Kazuya nods. “Yeah, I haven’t eaten since I snuck a hot dog at the ball park.”

Suga seeks out his stash of snacks, happy for his own forethought, and throws a bag of shrimp chips at Kazuya. “I hope you like these, or it’s over.”

“Love ‘em.” He opens the bag from the bottom, not at all perturbed by Suga’s chiding glare, and inhales almost the entire thing while Suga settles on a box of Pocky and a matcha Kit Kat.

Full of junk food, both of them burrow into the mound of blankets, with Suga nestled firmly into Kazuya’s side. Long fingers card through his hair, soothing Suga into a sleepy haze.

Soon, both of them are asleep, and Suga doesn’t wake up until the sun rudely announces its arrival the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Hoisting himself on his elbows, Suga looks over at Kazuya and his slumber-softened form, the tension gone and the tell-tale lines around his glasses-free eyes eased to nearly nothing. He thinks he can picture how this man would have looked as a teenager, or even as a child. That mocking smile, that easy laugh, and maybe even how he walked before the pain had set in.

He reaches out and traces that stubble-roughened cheek bared to him and sighs.

Suga jumps when fingers lace with his. “Sorry,” he manages when he can feel his heartbeat calming. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You know, watching people sleep is kind of creepy.”

Smacking Kazuya’s upper arm, Suga sticks his tongue out. “Watching people sleep _uninvited_ is creepy. This is supposed to be sweet.”

“Yada.” Kazuya hefts Suga onto his chest and pulls his head down for a kiss. “Cute is nice, but naughty is better.”

“So direct,” Suga gasps between long drags of Kazuya’s heady flavor. “But it’s way too early for this.”

Kazuya shrugs. “I get up this early every day. I used to run, but now I go in for briefings before I get my afternoons off. Unless it’s a day game, that is.”

“And today?”

Grinning, Kazuya flips Suga onto the floor and presses himself against Suga’s limbs, one knee slipping between Suga’s legs. “Today is an off-day.” He presses his lips to Suga’s ear and adds, “So is tomorrow.”

“Good.” Suga rakes his nails down the golden breadth of Kazuya’s back as he thinks to himself:

_I’m not going to get any unpacking done._

 

"Suga-chan needs to go shopping," Kazuya grumbles as he roots around in the very empty refrigerator. "Do you eat anything but takeout?"

Suga chuckles. "Not really. Considering I've set off the smoke alarm making instant noodles, it's probably a good idea if it stays that way." He reaches around Kazuya and pulls open the freezer door. "That is about the extent of my talent in the kitchen."

Kazuya's face wrinkles at the sight of a month's worth of frozen dinners. Suga really can't say he looks forward to them either, but Tokyo is expensive and takeout isn't a feasible option with his budget.

However, Kazuya shakes his head before grabbing an armload of the frozen dinners and chucking them into the trash. "We are going shopping."

Smirking, Suga shakes his head. "Don't think so. Not with you and your walk of shame outfit. You wore that yesterday. On live television. Someone is going to notice."

"You're right," Kazuya grumbles as he takes in the rumpled remnants of Suga's handiwork the day before. "Oh, and compliments from the wardrobe staff, by the way. The first thing they asked me when I walked in was if I had a girlfriend who burned all of my shirts."

Suga eyes the trashcan thoughtfully, weighing the likelihood of retrieving the frozen dinners while Kazuya isn't looking before they spoil. Vaguely aware that he's being spoken to, he murmurs, "Oh? What did you tell them?"

"That I procured someone to help me with it." Kazuya loops his arms around Suga's waist from behind and whispers, "Don't even think about it."

Glaring over his shoulder, Suga hisses, "Then what exactly am I supposed to eat?"

"I was getting to that." Kazuya turns Suga around without breaking away. "I think I finally know what I can offer you in exchange. I'll even let you pick."

"Mmm?" Suga is intensely aware of every plane of Kazuya's body pinned up against his, and he closes his eyes, should the man's stupidly handsome face cause him to sprout an unwanted arousal like a randy fourteen year old boy.

He doesn't need to see Kazuya's grin to know it's there. "I can either teach you how to cook for yourself so you don't clog your arteries with fatty fast food, or I can just cook for you every day."

Suga's eyes shoot wide open. "You would actually do that?"

"What? Cook for you?" Kazuya feathers a kiss on Suga's nose. "I miss cooking. I'm actually kind of good at it. If the whole baseball thing didn't work out, it was what I wanted to go to school for."

"That, then." Suga tip toes up to return Kazuya's kiss. "I would love to try what you can do."

That settled, Suga digs out his largest t-shirt for Kazuya to wear before they hail a taxi to head to the nearest shopping center. Inside, Suga finds the closest floor guide and drags a resigned Kazuya to the largest cluster of menswear stores in the place. In the first shop, the greeter at the entrance bows and asks, "Would you like a shopping basket today, sirs?"

Suga gives his most winning smile before asking, "Do you have a cart, maybe? We have a lot to buy."

Eyes widening, the man nods furiously and hustles off to fetch to meet the request. He returns with the cart, and Kazuya scratches his head. "Do you really think that's necessary? I don't exactly need a lot of clothes."

Nodding, Suga gives control of the cart to Kazuya. "When your knees start to hurt, lean on that until we can get somewhere you can sit for a while."

Kazuya rubs his eyes and groans. "I'm not made of glass. I can survive a day of shopping." He winces when Suga slaps the back of his head. "What was that for?"

"What about tomorrow? The next day? Huh?" He leans in closely, on his tip toes to level a glare. "You can't keep taking and taking from what you have left without putting anything into it. When you start seeing a sports therapist like I'm sure you're supposed to, then you will be in a position to tell me what you can and cannot do."

Blinking at Suga's suddenly forceful tone, Kazuya shrinks into himself before sighing, "All right, Suga-chan. If it means that much to you to treat me like an invalid, then knock yourself out."

Not nearly as satisfied with this small victory as he would like, Suga gestures towards the trouser section. "Let's start with some staples." He finds the attendant and waves. "Could we get him measured, please?"

"Suga," Kazuya groans. "I don't need someone to tell me what size my pants are."

"You just stay there and look pretty," Suga chides with a wicked smile. "If you didn't need help, I wouldn't be here, and some poor boy in the jeans shop wouldn't have needed to bully you into buying the correct size."

This made Kazuya's jaw drop and the attendant chuckle as his charge stands perfectly still, only moving as commanded. Suga looks over the sizing once it's complete, nodding in agreement. "Congratulations, Kazuya. Your right leg is officially two centimeters longer than your left. It's probably why your left knee hurts more than your right."

Kazuya has the good grace to blush. "I didn't think you noticed."

Suga slaps him on the shoulder. "Not a chance you can put one of those past me. I'll always notice." Turning to the attendant, Suga requests a litany of different styles. When he returns, Suga shepherds Kazuya towards the fitting room. "We'll try a few different cuts and see what works and worry about color later."

Frowning at the mountain of trousers, Kazuya grumbles, "Suga . . ."

"Is it all right if I go in with him?" Suga asks when he sees Kazuya's distress at the task. "I know it's normally not allowed, but he's got bad knees and -"

The attendant holds up a hand and says, "Of course." He holds up a fist and pumps it. "Go Swallows."

Throwing a smirk at Suga, Kazuya grabs an armload of trousers and marches into the fitting room. Suga follows and clinically strips Kazuya down to his underwear. "One 'on your knees' joke and I will break it off," Suga warns, shooting a glare for good measure. Kazuya's cheeks are already bulging with retrained laughter. "I mean it, Miyuki."

"Anything you — you —" Kazuya cackles, leaning against the side of the changing room as he tries to catch his breath. "Oh, I'm s-sorry."

Suga reaches out and roughly pinches a chunk of Kazuya's rump and rolls his eyes. "No you're not. Now shut up before you get us thrown out."

Finally, they begin plowing through a procession of different trouser styles, with Suga putting his stamp of approval on perhaps one out of five. He can almost smell the growing annoyance with the practice on Kazuya, but he ignores it in favor of exchanging the unwanted items for different colors of the ones he does like.

Kazuya drapes himself over his cart and groans. "You win. The cart was a great idea. I didn't know shopping was so exhausting."

"No, building a new wardrobe is exhausting. Shopping is just picking up a few new items every couple of months to keep things fresh." The attendant returns with the clothing Suga selected and bows. "Thank you very much for your cooperation. You've been very helpful."

Kazuya reaches into his pocket and pulls out a two-thousand yen note.  The attendant looks at the bill like it will explode if he touches it before Suga swats his hand down and drags him away.

As they make their way to the shirts, Kazuya frowns. "What was that for?"

"Tipping is rude, Kazuya." Suga sighs and rubs his face with his hands. "This isn't America. Not everything can be bought." When Kazuya scratches his head before shrugging and leaning against the cart once more, Suga grumbles, "Never mind."

Suga stops in front of a rack of long-sleeved button-ups and hums. "How much time do you actually spend outside?"

"Just wherever I walk to get around." He looks at the fine linen shirt Suga is brushing his fingers against. "Um, that one doesn't have buttons on the cuffs."

Suga holds up the sleeve and points out the stock pair of cuff links dangling by a plastic thread. "They're not supposed to. You use these instead."

"Right." Kazuya pokes at the links. "Do I get to at least pick these?"

Noting the hopeful look from Kazuya, Suga relents. "I reserve the right to veto one pair per trip. Some of them are so ugly."

"Deal."

They approach the next attendant with an assortment of shirts, but this trip to the dressing room proves to be more problematic. "Um, Suga-chan, nothing fits."

Suga chortles and claps Kazuya on the shoulder. "It's because of these. We'll just have to pick the ones that fit your shoulders and have the rest of it tailored."

"Isn't a little excessive?"

"No, Polyester-sama, it is not."

With that, Suga directs Kazuya to move in a variety of directions before settling on a few types of shirts. He chats with the attendant, making arrangements for the tailoring and delivery. Kazuya thanks the man before following Suga to the next leg of their journey. "You're getting the hang of this. If you treat them well and learn what to ask for, they'll give you the best service and find the best deals."

From there, they scout out accessories and shoes before Suga takes pity on a wilting Kazuya by suggesting a lunch break.

"Now it's my turn to question _your_ life choices." Before Suga can object, Kazuya orders for both of them, but doesn't complain when the first thing on the ticket is mapo tofu, his favorite.

As they wait for their food, Suga asks, "How did you know I liked mapo tofu?"

"Oh, I had a feeling." Kazuya sips at his tea and smiles softly, making Suga feel like he's going to slide right out of his seat. "You seem like a spicy kind of guy. In more ways than one."

Their eyes meet over his cup, and Suga knows they aren't talking about food.

Spending the day with Kazuya has opened up a new world of knowledge for Suga. While there is more to Miyuki Kazuya than he thinks he'll ever know, what he does understand is the air of loneliness surrounding this man who is such a fixture in the public eye. He says he just wants sex from Suga, yet doesn't hesitate to agree to waiting for it. Trades Suga's knowledge of clothes for homemade food. Doesn't even go to his own apartment after an exhausting day while in pain.

No, Kazuya doesn't want just sex from Suga, and Suga isn't going to stop searching until he figures out what it is.

For the rest of their meal, Suga talks about his new job (which he starts in two weeks) as a veterinary researcher, and Kazuya talks about what it's like to be on television. They trade laughter and second-hand embarrassment over dessert while talking about their respective high school teams.

The conversation gives Suga an idea he decides he will test out later. Instead, they press on to the next store, which specializes in sportswear. They leave with a variety of khakis, polos, jackets, and comfortable things for Kazuya to wear during the physical therapy Kazuya promises to attend, after a 'so help me' from Suga.

After one more shop to pick up a formal thing or two, Suga declares them done for the day. They pile their purchases not still in for tailoring into the back of a taxi before heading back to Kazuya's place.

Suga smacks Kazuya’s hand when he grabs at the voluminous shopping bags. “No. You need to take it easy.”

Kazuya sticks out his tongue but does as he’s told, instead opting to pay the driver and open the door for Suga’s bogged-down arms. They both sigh with relief as the elevator kicks into motion. “That was a lot,” Suga heaves, tired himself yet feeling the guilt over how much more so Kazuya must be. “Sorry to keep you out so long.”

“I’m fine, Suga-chan,” Kazuya answers with a flip of his hand, but Suga doesn’t miss the marginal narrowing of his eyes. “You bullied me into breaks enough, so I’m fine.”

He contemplates calling out Kazuya’s fib, but Suga opts instead for a curt, “You’re sitting down as soon as we get upstairs.”

The elevator dings and the door slides open. Before Suga can stop him, Kazuya takes the largest bag and darts off for his door. Suga scoops up the rest and barrels after him. “You are _so_ in trouble, Miyuki Kazuya.”

Inside, Suga opens his mouth to begin his rant about Kazuya not resting properly, but the words die in his mouth when the door slams shut behind him and Kazuya’s hungry mouth is on him.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” Kazuya gasps between long drags of the soft flesh of Suga’s neck. “You’re cute and all when you’re making fun of my clothes, but all work and no play makes Suga-chan a dull boy.”

Suga’s eyelids flicker as sensation turns into heat in his belly. “We played this morning. And I’m — hnn, that is nice — very fun.” His protest dissolves when Kazuya traces the shell of Suga’s ear with his tongue. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I do my best.” Kazuya picks Suga up by the bottom and drowns his objections after pinning him to the back of the door.

Kazuya’s arousal is hard against the inside of Suga’s thigh, and for the first time since he saw them, he hates Kazuya’s jeans with a passion. “Overdressed,” he groans as he rolls his hips. “At least you’ve had plenty of practice undressing today.”

Chuckling against Suga’s lips, Kazuya loops Suga’s legs around his waist and makes quick work of Suga’s shirt. Ravenous eyes drag down the pale length of his torso, but Suga is far too turned on to be embarrassed by the attention.

“Your skin is so soft and pale.” He teases Suga’s ear once again with his tongue before whispering, “Makes me want to mark you up.”

Suga shivers in response, but his better sense prevails. With more reluctance than he would like to admit, he drops his legs to the floor and plants a wet kiss on Kazuya’s cheek. “That’s enough of that.”

Kazuya yelps when Suga squats and hefts him into a breath-taking but solid fireman carry and staggers off to the bedroom. But by the time Kazuya is gracelessly deposited onto his bed, the remnants of Suga’s clothes-sorting the day before squashed without care beneath him, he is laughing with sparkling eyes. “Oh, Suga-chan. My hero.”

Clothes fly off into the now-unsorted piles, and Suga’s voice is husky as he takes in evidence of Kazuya’s arousal. “Please say you have lube somewhere.”

“In the drawer,” Kazuya moans as Suga straddles him and reaches over.

Suga’s brows almost shoot up into his hairline when he sees the vast array of toys in the drawer. “ _Someone_ is a greedy little bottom.” He picks up a giant purple jelly almost the size of an arm and stares at it. “Did you really —”

Kazuya grabs it and throws it back into the drawer. “That’s a work in progress. I’d much rather play with Suga-chan.”

With that, a tube of lube drops onto the bed, and the matter is forgotten as Suga's hand traces the strong curve of Kazuya's jaw. "So, have you ever actually been with a guy like this? Not just fooling around, but someone actually inside of you?"

"Just you, Suga-chan." He takes Suga's hand and feathers a kiss to his palm. "I'm in your care."

Suga lists forward and snares Kazuya's mouth with his for a blistering kiss. As they pull apart, Suga is panting as he answers, "I'll never forget it."

And he doesn't forget for a moment as he offers up everything of himself and his knowledge to Kazuya, not stopping until they're both sweating and burrowed into each other under the covers. Kazuya's fingers lazily drag up and down Suga's spine, while Suga hums with contentment into the breadth of Kazuya's chest. They fall asleep like this, and Suga wonders if he can keep his end of the deal like he said he could. Wonders if this can really be 'just sex' for either of them.

He falls asleep with his mind far too busy.


	4. Chapter 4

The scent of something wonderful pulls Suga out of his hazy stupor. A jagged yawn drags out of his lungs as he stretches his limbs, only remembering where he is when he finally recognizes the lump of fabric he plows into as a mound of gross polyester-blend dad shirts set to be removed from Kazuya’s closet as soon as possible.

A little more awake, Suga takes another whiff of the air, and he finally places the smell as frying fish and something else he can’t identify but definitely wants to eat his weight in it. With another yawn, he slides out of bed, grabbing the first shirt that looks like it’s made of natural fiber and sliding it over his head. After, he hitches on his boxers and pads out to the kitchen.

“Rise and shine, Suga-chan,” Kazuya sing-songs as he flicks his wrist, sending a rainbow of neatly chopped vegetables sailing into the air before dropping obediently back into the skillet. “Nice shirt.”

Suga scratches his head, feeling rather t-shirt he’s wearing. It’s bright yellow, with a winking smiley on the front with its tongue hanging out. “Well, it’s not the worst thing you own.”

“Does that mean I get to keep it?” Kazuya raises his brows hopefully. “Kuramochi gave it to me as a gag gift a few years ago because he knew I’d never wear it but wanted to see if I would anyway.”

Attention piqued at the unfamiliar name, Suga wonders aloud, “Kuramochi?”

Kazuya gives him an all-too-knowing look and huffs. “We fooled around a little in high school, if that’s what you’re asking, but we keep in touch. Catch a movie here and there.”

“I hope I get to meet him,” Suga murmurs as he wanders over to Kazuya and nuzzles the hollow between his shoulder blades. “Smells great.”

“You’ll probably meet Kuramochi sooner rather than later,” Kazuya says as he turns his head to peck a kiss on Suga’s forehead. “He likes to show up uninvited when he’s bored and has time to drive all the way from Chiba.”

Suga loops his arms around Kazuya’s waist and looks over his shoulder at the sizzling skillet. “Almost done?” On cue, his stomach growls. “I’m starving.”

After flipping off the burner, Kazuya reaches back and swats Suga on the behind. “The plates are in the third cabinet from the right.”

Soon, they’re shoulder to shoulder on the couch with their plates, lazily eating with forks instead of chopsticks, as they watch some random anime that happens to be playing when Kazuya turns on the television set.

The meal ends with Kazuya draped in Suga’s lap while Suga’s hands once again knead away the stress that still pools there. While the show mindlessly blares, Suga stares off into the dim expanse of the room.

The day has certainly been interesting, he thinks as he glances down to the sight of Kazuya groaning into his thigh. Their coupling had been intense. Not because it’s been a while for both of them (though not nearly as long for Suga as it had been for Kazuya), but because Suga has never been the strongest presence while being with someone. No one has ever relied on him so intently, following every cue and responding to ever caress with such abandon.

In these moments, Suga thinks he might see a glimmer of the real Miyuki Kazuya. It isn’t that Suga thinks Kazuya lies about who he is; he’s been nothing but truthful every time Suga asks him something about himself. It’s what Kazuya doesn’t say, doesn’t offer, that Suga felt like he got to see in that space of time. The loneliness, the need to be touched, they ooze from him like a lanced wound — congested, messy, _relieved_.

A stray thought trickles into his head as his hands move up to run through Kazuya’s silken hair. “Kazuya?”

“Mmm, Suga-chan?” comes the muffled reply, the hum of it almost tickling the inside of Suga’s thigh.

Not sure if he should continue but also without anything else to say, Suga opts to just spit it out. “I have a remorse clause in my lease, giving me two weeks to change my mind because I moved in from out of the prefecture. There’s three days left.”

“Oh?” He feels Kazuya’s head turn in his lap. “And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Remorseful.”

Suga’s hesitation evaporates once he realizes that Kazuya knows what he was going to say. Instead, he exhales heavily and clucks his tongue. “Well, I could be.”

“Wherever shall you go? Back to Miyagi, where there are more cows than people?”

Flicking Kazuya’s ear, Suga says, “Hush, you.” His fingers automatically soothe the spot he hit with his fingernail and adds quietly, “Do you like living here alone?”

Kazuya grows quiet as he turns over in Suga’s lap. Their eyes meet as well as they can through the distortion of Kazuya’s glasses. Suga already begins to regret asking at all.

But Kazuya surprises him by laughing until tears gush out of his eyes. When he catches his breath, he says, “You know what’s funny? Ever since I was fifteen, I’ve always lived with someone in some way who wasn’t my dad. Even when I lived here during the seasons, there were always road trips where I had to share a room with one of the guys.”

“O — kay.” Suga bites his lower lip, unsure of whether he’s being mocked, so he waits for Kazuya to put him out of his misery.

“I always wanted my own space, to not have to worry about anybody but me. I could do whatever I wanted, and even though I couldn’t play anymore, I could still devote everything to baseball.”

It slowly dawns on Suga. “But now that you have it —”

“It’s not what I want at all.”

Suga leans forward to wrap his arms around Kazuya’s shoulders, resting his chin on the crown of Kazuya’s head. “I meant what I said before. If you want this thing we have to be just sex and you don’t think you can do that, remember what I said, and that’s that.

“But if there is something else you want, I’m not afraid of that, either.”

That last sentence hangs in the air for a long time before Kazuya finally speaks. “And what do _you_ want, Suga-chan?”

Without hesitation, Suga supplies, “To have a great career, a cat named Princess Monster Truck, and to spend the rest of my life with someone who loves me as much as I love them.” He shrugs. “They don’t have to be in that order or all at once, but a guy’s got to have goals. You?”

“The purple one, definitely.” He smiles at Suga’s snort. “Not much. Just figure stuff out as I go. Baseball was always the destination. I guess I never really thought about what would happen if I drove through town instead of staying there forever.”

Suga nods. “I get it. But does it bother you to be so close to the game after not being allowed to play anymore?”

“My contract doesn’t expire until the end of next season.”

The non-answer tells Suga more than words could ever do. He holds Kazuya a little closer as he offers, “Then maybe find something different. Go to cooking school. Take piano lessons. Write a book about your life. Spend more time with your Kuramochi. Build a birdhouse for your parents’ yard. Just do everything.”

Kazuya rolls over and leans into Suga until Suga’s back is on the couch, with Kazuya’s mouth gently pressing into his. “Suga-chan is sweet, but that sounds more like a way to spend a Sunday afternoon.”

“Then just start with Sunday afternoons.” Suga’s thumb smooths away the lines around Kazuya’s eyes as his lips curl upwards. “You don’t need all the answers, you know. It isn’t always a bad thing to go for what makes you feel good now, rather than planning for later. It’s worked for me so far.”

Blinking, Kazuya’s gaze pierces through Suga before he grins. “Move in with me, Suga-chan. You can tell me what to wear, and I can fatten up that lithe little body of yours.”

Suga sticks out his tongue. “You’re not cute at all, Miyuki Kazuya.” But all he can manage after that is a sigh. “When I mentioned my lease loophole, I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was that if you weren’t sure you could carry on with this thing we’re doing, I’d be willing to move to another side of town. We wouldn’t bump into each other, and you would never have to see me again.”

“So, you _don’t_ want to move in.” Kazuya nips the tip of Suga’s nose, chortling at the indignant squeak it elicits. “You could have just said no.”

“I didn’t say no, did I?” The words leave Suga’s mouth before he can stop them, but he knows he means them.

It’s a terrible idea. He barely knows this guy, and in a city like Tokyo where Suga is virtually friendless, Kazuya could turn out to be an axe murderer with sights set on Suga and no one would be the wiser.

But the thought of waking up with Kazuya every morning, complaining about the hour because his limbs are too soaked in last night’s sex to move — the mere thought of it knocks the air out of Suga’s chest. Petty squabbling over clothes and dinner and who left the toilet seat up. Bad movies until midnight. Watching baseball games just to listen to Kazuya talk about the sport that is his lifeblood like it’s the most incredible thing in the world.

Suga wants it all, but they aren’t there yet. Not even close, he’s sure.

It’s with a heavy sigh that Suga shakes his head. “Ask me again in a year. My lease will be up, and we’ll know each other better. If you still want me then, and I still want you, then it’ll be the most natural thing in the world. And you know what will happen when people find out about you.”

“Suga-chan is wise,” Kazuya replies with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I want a drawer, and Suga-chan needs one, too.”

“A drawer,” Suga murmurs as he draws Kazuya closer for a kiss, “would be great.”

They spend the rest of the night tangled together on the couch, and nearly fall asleep there before Suga points out that Kazuya’s body is going to regret it in the morning. And Suga drifts off in a cocoon of warmth and a blanket of Kazuya’s scent.

The next morning greets Suga once again with the smell of cooking food, which arrives on a tray before he can even scrape himself out of bed. “Good morning, Suga-chan.”

Saying the usual blessing before he eats with more fervor than usual, Suga’s eyes close as he takes the first bite. After he inhales half of the plate, he leans over to peck Kazuya on the cheek. “You know what you were saying about fattening me up? I think you’ll actually succeed.”

Fortified, Suga finishes his meal and gears up for a day of intense clothes sorting, with a stop at the grocery store in the cards for later. Kazuya cleans up in the kitchen while Suga gets started.

Three piles start to grow on the bed: older clothes Suga wants to keep, clothes to donate, and things Kazuya needs to look over before he gets rid of them. He’s quietly relieved that Kazuya at least keeps up his underwear supply, but that is quickly squelched by the need to move the donate pile to the floor because it’s spilling over into the other two piles.

Suga makes a mental note to grab a couple of boxes from his place for these things as he hangs up the startlingly small Keep pile. After, he slots the previous day's purchases in the empty spaces. He piles the donation items as neatly as possible in the corner before calling, "Kazuya!"

Kazuya comes into the room with soapy dish gloves and a shiny red apron. The words in Suga's mouth die on his tongue as he stares. Finally, he manages, "I'm not even going to ask where you got those." He gestures at the maybe pile on the bed and asks, "What of this do you want to keep?"

Wriggling his gloved fingers, he answers, "Can you, um . . ."

"Oh!" One at a time, Suga flips through the items that seem like they carry sentimental value, surprised when the only thing Kazuya elects to keep is an old jacket with a Seidou High School emblazoned on the front. "It's too small, I know, but I really loved that place."

Suga gives him a knowing nod. "I wore out my volleyball club jacket. I loved it there, too." He picks up the jacket, smoothing his fingers over the time-softened shell before sliding it over his own shoulders, which are narrower than Kazuya’s own broad frame. “What do you think?”

A yelp whooshes from Suga when Kazuya pulls him in hard against his chest, the wetness of the gloves and apron soaking through the t-shirt Suga hasn’t bothered changing out of. “I think Suga-chan missed his calling. You would’ve been a great pitcher.”

“High praise from you.” Suga smacks a kiss on Kazuya’s lips. “Now, back to work.”

Kazuya looks at the piles and the neatly filled closet and scratches his temple. “Um, isn’t it done?”

Suga rolls his eyes and shoos Kazuya from the room. “Go finish your dishes. We’ll do this later.”

After a long, hot shower and another round of scrounging through Kazuya’s shirts for a fresh one, Suga is ready to tackle the rest of the day. Kazuya also opts for a quick shower, but not after some gentle ribbing about how baggy his boxers look on Suga’s narrow hips before being shooed laughing into the bathroom by a flying sneaker.

Once Kazuya is ready to get dressed, Suga pulls him in front of the closet and points. “Now, pick something out.”

Kazuya crosses his arms, thumb idly rubbing his chin as he regards the contents of his wardrobe. “So, if we’re just going grocery shopping, does it actually matter?”

Suga shrugs. “Not really, but I want to see how you pick stuff out to wear.”

Nodding, Kazuya reaches out and picks out a pair of khakis and one of the fun t-shirts Suga elected to keep, with a print of two monkeys in suits shaking hands, with the English words ‘Monkey Business’ under the picture. Over it, he pulls an olive green zip-up hoodie, and lastly, he pulls a pair of brown loafers out and holds them up for Suga’s approval with a raised brow.

“Not terrible,” Suga mumbles as he takes in the overall image. “Yeah, you can wear that pretty well.”

Kazuya’s giddy little smile at his praise makes Suga waver. “Stop that,” he chides as he hides his face in his hands.

Two of Suga’s fingers pry apart under Kazuya’s hands as the latter meets one eye with a smirk. “Stop what, Suga-chan?”

Snapping those fingers back into place, Suga’s muffled reply comes. “Stop being so cute. It’s gross.”

“Never.” Kazuya’s head dips to smooth a kiss on the slope of Suga’s neck. “How else am I supposed to get what I want?”

It is far more difficult than Suga cares to admit to slide out of the warm cocoon of Kazuya’s advances. “Ask,” he breathes as he closes his eyes and counts to ten, hoping to quell the desire beginning to bubble up inside of him.

“Yes, Suga-chan,” Kazuya croons as he exits the bedroom with a boisterous laugh.

Much to Suga’s relief, Kazuya manages to behave himself in both the taxi and in the grocery store. His knowledge of produce selection is rather impressive, as well as how to find a good cut of meat. But before Suga can even vocalize his lament for the lack of easy snacks, a pile of single-serve veggie and cheese trays pop into the basket.

They finish off the trip with a rice cooker and a small autograph session in the snack aisle when he’s spotted by a very excitable eight year old girl who knows more about Kazuya’s old batting averages than he does. Suga can’t stop tittering about it until they make it to the bench outside while waiting their taxi.

“So, Suga-chan,” Kazuya says as they slump into the bench, “what have you learned today?”

Suga snorts. “That you are way too good with kids. Also that I have no idea how to cook tofu.”

“Well, if you did, you wouldn’t need me around as much, now would you.” Kazuya gives him a teasing smile. “So remind me never to teach you.”

“You’re terrible,” Suga retorts, even as he leans into Kazuya’s side. “So, I should probably let you sleep tonight. You’ll probably be sitting all day tomorrow.”

Kazuya leans over to whisper hotly into Suga’s ear. “You know, we could just switch, but I wouldn’t want to scandalize you.”

The mental image of him riding Kazuya’s cock makes Suga’s belly stir in anticipation, but he shakes his head. “That means we’d have to go back to your place. If I’ve got any lube, it’s in a box somewhere.”

“I thought you might say that.” Kazuya pats his pocket. “Already took care of it.”

There is a crinkle of foil packages under Kazuya’s hand. “What the —”

“Amazon is wonderful, and so is their sale on sample sizes of every flavor ever made, it seems.”

Suga’s face turns beet red, and the situation isn’t alleviated by the arrival of their taxi. “ _Behave_ ,” he hisses.

"Yada."

They barely make it through the front door of Suga's apartment before Kazuya is all over the fly of Suga's jeans. Suga's fingers curl into fists in Kazuya's hair as his hot breath soaks through the thin fabric of his underwear. A tongue traces down his length, making Suga shiver and pull roughly on his fistful of Kazuya's locks. His knees nearly buckle at the ragged groan it elicits. "Do that again," Kazuya pants.

The second time he pulls on Kazuya's hair makes the man shiver through his entire body. "Well, that's new," he comments as he roughly hikes down Suga's jeans and underwear in one swift motion. "Hello again, Suga-chan."

When Kazuya's mouth sinks down to the hilt of Suga's cock in one stroke, the only thing keeping Suga upright is the doorknob behind him. "Oh, god," he wheezes as his eyes roll back. "How did you even learn to do that?"

Suga chances a look down, only to see Kazuya's eyes glittering as he smirks around Suga's girth. He lets go with a wet  _pop_. "Where do you think the other half of the variety pack went?"

They never do manage to make it much farther than Suga's makeshift couch-bed, and Kazuya manages to remember the groceries only about ten minutes into the afterglow.

"I don't want to go home, Suga-chan."

The words evaporate Suga's sex-induced good cheer. "What?"

Kazuya's hand curls tightly around the cucumber in his hand. "Suga-chan is much better company," he says brightly, but Suga isn't fooled by his tinfoil tone.

"You haven't lied to me yet," Suga says past his reflexive frown. "Please don't start now."

"I would never."

Suga exhaled heavily. "Is this what you're really like? All sweetness on the outside and rotting from the inside?"

Kazuya laughs. It's tight and plastic and Suga hates the sound so much. "Suga-chan is the sweet one. Ask Kuramochi. Nothing sweet about me."

"Liar." Suga plucks away the cucumber and tosses it into the vegetable crisper. "Now stop." He picks up a zucchini and waves it in Kazuya's face. "I don't give a shit how macho you are or not. If you're in pain, tell me. If you want to spill your guts and tell me what keeps you up at night, then do that. I'll never judge you or make fun of you for it. But  _never_  say something scary like that to me and not finish. I can't -"

Suga's voice breaks. "I can't deal with worrying about whether I can leave you alone every minute of every day. If I'm going to not hear from you for a week and find out on the news that you hurt yourself or worse. Please, if you care about me at all, don't do that."

Arms wrap around Suga, and Kazuya's chin rests on the crown of Suga's head. "I'm sorry." They stand there until Kazuya chuckles and says, "We should probably put that away. It's not cold anymore."

Suga reels back to stare at the vegetable in his hands. "Right."

The afternoon passes far more quietly than usual, with the sounds of Kazuya explaining the basics of food prep washing over Suga in an almost clinical fashion. Suga's knife cuts are slow and uneven, while Kazuya's are uniform and quick, but slowly and surely, they become less and less dissimilar. In less than an hour, a steaming, fragrant meal of food Suga would readily pay good money for delivery is spread out on his kitchen counter.

"That . . . wasn't actually too hard." Suga inhales the heady scent of teriyaki and grins. "You make stuff like this for yourself all the time?"

"Yeah." Kazuya's lips twitch. "I've been cooking for myself since I was ten. It was either that or spend all of the petty cash on takeout."

Suga frowns. "Didn't your mother cook for you? Or even your dad?"

Kazuya shakes his head, his smile faltering just enough for Suga to notice and feel his chest constrict. "Not for a long time. My mom died when I was six, and my dad spent my entire life in his shop."

"Kazuya," Suga breathes, listing to the side to put his head on Kazuya's shoulder. "That must have been hard."

"At first, a little." Kazuya takes a set of chopsticks from the jar on the counter and snaps them apart. "But I managed not to poison myself or burn down the house." He stuffs his mouth full of grilled tofu, churning it in his cheek thoughtfully. "This, though, it took some practice."

Everything Suga's brain offered in reply reeked of platitude, so he opted to help himself to a chunk of his dinner and sighed in pleasure. "That is so good. I'm glad I couldn't get fat if I tried, or I'd definitely gain five kilos in a month eating food this good."

"Aww." Kazuya pinches Suga's cheek. "You'd be sexy with some chub."

Suga rolls his eyes. "I'm always sexy. Now eat your dinner before it gets cold."

They devour their meal in almost embarrassingly quick order, only stopping to dole out the rest of what remained in the skillet. Kazuya cleans up while Suga clears out the drawer he promised to Kazuya. It's nearly sundown before Suga is ready to revisit their earlier conversation.

"Kazuya, are you sure you want to stay here?" He gestures towards the makeshift bed. "That can't be good for you to sleep on something without any support."

"Is Suga-chan trying to get rid of me?" He slides his warm hands up the back of Suga's shirt, drawing out a shiver. "I thought we were having fun."

Huffing, Suga shakes his head. "When I start work in two weeks, I'm going to be working a lot of hours. I don't want to get too used to this domestic bliss thing."

Kazuya's nails drag over Suga's shoulder blades, making him whimper as he wills off his ill-timed arousal. "Why not enjoy it while we can?"

Suga closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I can't do this with you."

He wheels around catching Kazuya's genuine confusion, and something warm unfolds in his chest before he swats it back down. "I can't do that because I can't afford to fall in love with you, Kazuya." He holds Kazuya's hands in his and kisses the knuckles. "You're somebody I could easily fall in love with, but you're not meant for me. When you make those changes in your life and in yourself so you can be out and happy, I won't be enough for you anymore. You're you and I'm me."

Suga drops Kazuya's hands and turns away to hide the unwanted wobble of his lip. "I mean, I don't even like baseball. How can you be with somebody who can't even share your passion in life?"

"Does that mean you're only going to be with other veterinarians?" Kazuya asks, his voice hollow of expression. "Why does what I do have to be the final say in who I am?"

“Because that’s how it works.” Suga sucks in a fortifying breath and hugs his arms to his chest. “Differences that seem endearing and quirky at the beginning of a relationship are the very things that will end it. When those things become irritating or boring or tiresome, that’s when things start to fall apart.

“So if what you say you want from me is really all you want from me, you’re going to stop with this need to play house. We’ll stick to services rendered, and that’s that.”

Kazuya is silent for a long stretch before he says softly, “You said you could do this. Do you want to stop?”

“No.” Suga shakes his head. “I don’t want to stop. I just want to protect both of us from becoming stupidly attached, because the longer we let it happen, the more it will hurt when things start to mess up.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

The question is blunt, and it makes Suga flinch. “No,” he admits, “but you should.”

Without another word, Kazuya gives Suga a soft peck on the forehead and walks out the door, leaving Suga to sink down onto his bedding still drenched in the scent of lovemaking and not-sleep until dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that was a heavy chapter, but they needed to have this talk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of past OiSuga, current Iwaoi and DaiYui, with brotp Daisugas.

Suga has never unpacked so eagerly in his life.

The bulk of his morning is spent tearing through the mounds of boxes strewn throughout his apartment. By the end of the day, he has a pile of empties, a homier looking place, and not a word from Kazuya.

It’s almost dark by the time Suga quits for the day, entirely spent as he drapes himself onto his unmoved makeshift bed. He supposes the next day will be the best to head up to Miyagi and finish moving his furniture. The fact that his pillow still smells like Kazuya has nothing to do with it.

Limbs burning with the unfamiliar effort, Suga buries his face into that pillow and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s too late to blare music to drown out the noise of his thoughts, but in the evening when he can escape neither his thoughts nor the reminders of the man he just sent away, Suga wishes he could just pass out right then and there.

He feels awful.

If Kazuya had left the night before angry or sad or spiteful, Suga could deal with that. But that isn’t what happened. Instead, Suga hadn’t been able to read him at all. Not a word, not an expression — just a wooden mask. It’s everything Suga never wanted from Kazuya.

With a sigh, he flicks on the television only to find it’s on the same channel he last watched, which is the local sports network. It’s startling to hear Kazuya’s voice without seeing his face, not being able to tell if the cheer in his tone is manufactured or a result of being around the sport he loves so much.

And then the camera flashes to the booth at the end of the inning, and Suga can’t help but hiss sharply. Kazuya did well in dressing himself, Suga notices, but what draws his attention are his eyes. Too much makeup will always be obvious on someone as sun-bronzed as Kazuya, especially under his eyes. He can tell Kazuya barely slept, and there is a hard glaze in his expression that belies his bright tone.

Suga turns off the television before turning it back on not a minute later.

The game ends once again a victim of the Swallows' anemic offense and a heartbreaker for a pitcher who doesn't do poorly at all. Kazuya interviews the losing pitcher, whose face brightens at the sound of his old catcher's voice through the headphones, only to deflate when he remembers where he is and where Kazuya is not. Suga knows the feeling.

Once the broadcast ends and the late night talk shows start, Suga flicks off the set for good before lying back and holding his phone in front of his face, contacts list open and ready. Finally, he settles on a noncommittal text:  _You looked good today._

The words aren't entirely truthful, but they don't make the dull ache in his belly he suspects to be guilt any worse.

_Suga-chan is a good teacher._

The reply is unexpected but welcome. He debates answering or even calling, but decides on the former.  _You didn't sleep well._

_Did you?_

_No, not really._ Suga can't be bothered to lie about it. He doesn't want Kazuya to think he doesn't care at all any more than he wants the other man to think he cares too much. Instead, he focuses on the areas that keep him out of trouble.  _Did you talk to the team doctor about starting rehabilitation? If not, I know a guy._

Suga laughs out loud at the answer he gets.  _Is he as cute as you?_

_Actually, he's very good looking. Unmarried, too. Just a little moody when he's riled up, but age has mellowed him a lot. I can take you to meet him, if you don't mind spending your next off day in Sendai._

_We're actually playing the Eagles next, so I'll be there in a few days anyway._

_I'll see you then. I can set it up for whenever is convenient._

_Early morning._

_Sounds great._  Suga wants to kick himself for the ridiculous statement, but he settles on getting to work on his end of the bargain. Knowing his old kouhai has kept the same phone number for the past decade, he shoots a quick text and pumps his fist at the positive reply. He then passes on the info.  _Eight on the morning of the first game of the series._

_See you at the train station at 730, then?_

_Definitely._

It's not much, but it's a start to bridge the gap between them and rebuild the bridge the right way.

The next morning, Suga rents a small truck and spends a bulk of the day, as well as the next, making trips back and forth from Tokyo to Sendai ferrying his heavier furniture. As promised, a strong helper awaits him and dedicates most of those two days to Suga’s endeavors.

“So, how are Yui and the kids?” Suga asks as they cruise down the expressway.

Daichi smiles. “About to make it three.”

“Oh!” Suga grins. He swipes his hand sideways and socks Daichi in the arm. “When were you planning on telling me, Sawamura?”

“I see you haven’t lost your touch,” Daichi grumbles as he rubs the reddened spot on his arm. “I wanted to tell you in person and not over the phone.”

Suga lets out a happy sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy. It’s better to get them all out now while you’re not too old to chase them around. Bonus if this one’s a daughter and you have to haunt her boyfriends until you die.”

The color evacuates from Daichi’s face. “Why would you tell me that now? I’m enjoying sleeping at night.”

“Yeah, that makes one of us.”

Daichi rakes his eyes over Suga. “So, why don’t you tell me what that’s all about?”

Bit by bit, Suga relates to Daichi pretty much everything to do with Miyuki Kazuya since the incident at the coffee shop, leaving out little detail despite Daichi’s burning face. “And now I think we’re okay, but I don’t know.”

“How do —” Daichi rubs his forehead, scowling into his palm. “Only you could manage to be sex buddies with a celebrity and not even know who he is.”

Suga shrugs. “You know I don’t like baseball. It’s boring.”

“Miyuki was the best player to come out of his draft year by far,” Daichi explains. “He may have gone second overall, but he was the best. That Narumiya guy who went before him burnt out in a few years, but Miyuki was a franchise asset. The day the Swallows lost him from their lineup was the day they stopped being a contender.”

Quirking a brow, Suga casts a sideways glance at Daichi. “He’s that good.”

“Better.” Daichi crosses his arms. “You say he hasn’t been going to physical therapy?”

“He will if I have to hogtie him and throw him into the back of this truck.” Suga’s fingers flex on the wheel. “I’m not going to let him slowly kill himself.”

“Are you going to take him to see —”

“Yep.”

Daichi chuckles. “I’d kill to see that go down. Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance against either of you. He has no idea what he’s in for.”

The faith Daichi shows in Suga’s fortitude lifts Suga’s mood as they speed on down to Tokyo. Conversation veers on to Daichi sharing cute anecdotes about his two sons, Hiroshi and Takeshi, and their childish shenanigans. Suga loves how happy his oldest friend is, and that he’s just as enthusiastic about life in general as he was the day they met.

After two trips to Sendai and back, Suga and Daichi call it a night as they settle onto Suga’s freshly placed couch with takeout and a six pack of beer to split. As Daichi requests, they watch the tail end of the Swallows game, and they both groan as the home team is flattened by the visitors 10-1.

“Wow, that was bad.” Daichi looks at the remnants of his food as if put off by the poor showing from Tokyo’s team.

Suga nods. “Yeah, I haven’t seen them win a game yet.”

Daichi snorts. “ _You_ watched baseball on _purpose_?”

“Hey, don’t look at me like that.” Suga crosses his arms. “I happen to be invested in his public image.”

“You really like him, don’t you?”

Suga swipes at a throw blanket and cocoons himself away from Daichi’s knowing gaze. “Well, duh. I wouldn’t sleep with him if I didn’t.”

“That’s not what I mean, Suga.” Daichi throws an arm around Suga’s shoulders. “It’s like me watching Yui’s weird K-dramas just because she likes them. I’d never do that if I wasn’t married to her.”

“Riiiight.” Suga rolls his eyes. “That’s the only reason you watch K-drama.”

“Shut up.” Daichi yanks on the other half of the blanket pile and eyes the remnants of Suga’s makeshift bed, as his mattress still in Sendai. “I’ll take the floor if you want the couch.”

Suga blushes. “That, um, might not — that’s probably not a good idea.” He goes over and delves his hands into the depths of the covers and pulls out a few used condom and lube wrappers. “Yeah. That.”

Daichi drapes a blanket over his head. “You are shameless.”

“You are correct.” Suga burrows into the futon, the smell of Kazuya waning but still intact. “Goodnight, Daichi.”

“’Night, Suga.”

The next day is wrapped up by dinnertime, and Suga heads back to Sendai with Daichi on the bullet train for Kazuya’s appointment the next day. Full of Yui’s delicious and soporific homemade ramen, he sleeps well considering the foreign din of children waking up in the middle of the night for a plethora of reasons. He’s not even surprised to see a bleary-eyed Yui in the kitchen at six, feeding their youngest son while the other one is draped sleepily in a high chair.

“All ready for another one?” Suga half-jokes as she longingly eyes the steaming coffee she has sworn off while nursing.

Yui squeezes her eyes shut. “Daichi is ecstatic, but his boobs haven’t been hurting for the past four years.”

Suga snickers. “I can arrange that. Anything for you, Yui-chan.”

“Give him hell.” She cranes open an eyelid. “And that hot baseball player. Give him twice as much hell.”

“That’s actually the first thing on the agenda,” Suga chimes as he pours himself a huge cup of Yui’s always excellent coffee. It’s thick enough to paint a house, and Suga enjoys its earthy strength as much as the Suicide Specials he thinks might become part of his daily ritual. “Mmm. Leave Daichi and live with me. I can’t live without your coffee.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Daichi grumbles from the hallway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Morning, Suga.” He kisses Yui on the cheek. “I’ll take over if you want to go back to sleep.”

Yui shakes her head. “This one’ll never let me. And you know he’ll never let you feed him.”

“My own kid hates me,” Daichi sighs as he opens the fridge and drinks milk straight from the carton.

“After that,” Suga chides, “I kind of hate you, too. Now I’ll have Sawamura cooties in my cereal. My poor —” He looks at the side of the colorful box on the counter. “— Fruit Spins.”

The joking subsides as breakfast finishes up, and Suga takes the bus at a nearby stop to the train station to meet Kazuya. He expects the bustle of the team pouring out of a train, but there is only the regular commuter traffic, with a quiet Kazuya reading a newspaper on a bench.

“Hey,” Suga all but squeaks to his own chagrin. “Um, are you ready?”

Kazuya is scowling at the newspaper, scratching his chin as he reads, and Suga worries he might not have been heard until Kazuya finally answers with a cryptic, “Well, that’s a little harsh.”

He holds the paper out for Suga to read, and the article in question is easy to spot. Even Suga’s limited knowledge of baseball is enough to recoil at the scathing editorial about the Swallows being the worst pile of garbage team since their expansion year. “Yikes.”

“That’s one of the nicer ones this guy has written,” Kazuya mentions as he takes the paper, wads it up, and chucks it into the nearest recycling bin. “Well, enough of that. Take me to be folded in half by some old guy with cold hands.”

Suga laughs out loud at the mental image. “He is, um, not what you’ll expect. When I broke my leg a few years ago, he worked his magic and I barely even feel a twinge.”

“Dare I even ask how you broke your leg?”

“My ex and I went skiing. He’s good at skiing; I am not.”

They take the train down two stops, finishing the remaining two blocks on foot. As they approach the office building, Suga points out the placard on the door to the office they’re visiting and Kazuya reads it aloud.

“Kageyama Tobio. Sounds shady.”

Groaning, Suga shakes his head. “That was literally the worst pun I have ever heard. Just go.”

Suga pushes Kazuya through the door and into the elevator to Kageyama’s office on the third floor. However, when they exit, Suga nearly walks straight into the chest of the absolute last person he expects to haunt Kageyama’s doorway.

“Tooru!” Suga gasps. “It’s been forever!”

Tooru beams at Suga as he holds out a hand to help him regain his balance. “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Refreshing himself!” He looks over his shoulder to the one person Suga can’t recall seeing Tooru without. “Look who I found, Iwa-chan!”

“Sugawara,” Hajime grunts with a brief nod.

Suga doesn’t really expect much else from his ex-boyfriend’s current significant other, but Suga and Hajime had always got along well enough to know there is no real enmity there. At least he hopes.

Age has been kind to both of them, Suga notices. While flecks of gray are sprinkled throughout Hajime’s jet-black hair, he looks somehow more distinguished than Tooru’s own dyed-brown hair. Suga almost wishes he had been there the morning Tooru woke up and found his first strand of gray. His face, however, is still as handsome and babyish as the last time they saw each other nearly ten years before.

“Good morning, friends of Suga-chan!” Kazuya offers, reminding Suga that he is not alone.

“Oh!” Suga and Tooru say in unison. Tooru crosses his arms and casts a meaningful glance at Kazuya. “I thought I was the only one allowed to call you that?”

Suga chuckles and ducks his head. “Well, he’s kind of different. Tooru, Hajime, this is —”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea why you’re here,” Hajime interjects before stepping forward, arms crossed beneath a glacial gaze. “So, Miyuki, what do you want with Sugawara?”

“ _Iwa-chan_ ,” Tooru hisses as he hides his face in his hands. “Be nice to Suga-chan’s new beau.”

Hajime raises a brow. “Really? You never seemed like the type.”

Kazuya chortles. “Like there really is such a thing.” He eyes Hajime from head to toe, his eyes lingering on what Suga knows via Tooru’s lack of boundaries to be a well-endowed lap. “So, Tooru-san, you gave up Suga-chan for Bara-san here?”

Tooru shrugs. “Something like that. It’s one of those ‘meant to be’ sort of things.”

“Your loss,” he replies with a huff. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have an appointment with Shadow-san.”

Suga’s eyes bulge as he follows Kazuya’s confident stride through the door. As it clicks shut behind them, Suga rounds on Kazuya. “What the hell? Why don’t you just pee on each other while you’re at it?”

From behind the reception desk, Shimizu Kiyoko looks over the glasses riding low on her nose and asks, “Do I even want to know?”

Glaring at the door like it’s responsible for Hajime’s odd behavior, Suga says, “ _Someone_ is not minding his own business.”

“Oikawa-kun is very bad at that.” She pushes up her glasses and resumes her typing. “You know that.”

Kazuya chuckles. “Oh, it was the other one. I think I just got my first angry dad speech.”

“Please ignore him,” Suga pleads. “He’s never seen Iwaizumi crush a beer can with his bicep.”

“Oh, he can?” Kazuya hums. “I wonder what else he can —”

“ _Kazuya_!” Suga all but squeaks. “Just — sit down.” Taking a deep breath, he turns to Kiyoko. “We have an appointment for eight.”

“Room Two is waiting for you,” she says as she waves them back, a soft smile on her face. “Good luck, Sugawara.”

Kazuya pouts. “Why can’t the pretty lady wish _me_ luck?”

Suga swats Kazuya’s behind and corrals him towards the back. “After that display, you don’t deserve Kiyoko’s good luck.”

They bicker for a solid five minutes over who does, indeed, deserve the good wishes of the fair Shimizu Kiyoko, only to be cut off by a loud throat clearing Kageyama, brow arched and lip curled.

From down the hall, Suga hears Kiyoko’s voice call, “Don’t even ask.”

“Right.” Kageyama looks both Suga and Kazuya up and down thoroughly before setting his sights on Kazuya. “You. Strip and get on the table.”

“Oh, you’re a charmer, Kageyama-san,” Kazuya says as he complies. “Suga-chan, don’t get jealous.”

Suga closes his eyes and counts to ten twice before he replies. “Get on the table, Miyuki, or you’re going to have more problems than your knees.”

Kageyama nods. “Your shoulders are definitely a problem, too.”

Kazuya and Suga lock eyes before they both snicker. “Yeah,” Suga offers, trying not to guffaw. “Those need looked at, too.”

“How did you know?” Kazuya asks, still smirking at Suga.

“It’s my job,” Kageyama grumbles as he pulls out a pen light and flashes it in Kazuya’s eyes. “Your stance and posture are indicative of chronic pain. Also, your right leg is likely slightly longer than your left, judging by the way your hips lean to the left but your torso leans to the right when you stand still.”

Blinking at Kageyama’s cold reading of Kazuya’s symptoms, Suga shrugs and offers Kazuya a lopsided smile. “Didn’t I tell you he’s good?”

“I’m suitably impressed, Shadow-san,” Kazuya agrees, eyes flashing merrily at Kageyama’s frown of confusion. “You’re very quiet.”

Kageyama ignores him, scratching his chin as he pokes and prods Kazuya’s knees. Suga bounces on his toes nervously, hoping it isn’t a bad sign. However, relief comes when Kageyama stands and smacks Kazuya on the back of the head.

“Idiot.”

Kazuya rubs the spot Kageyama smacked, jaw slack with shock. “What was that for?”

“Your knees are full of signs of stress, and the muscles and tendons are weak.” Kageyama glares at Kazuya, leaning in to scold him to his face. “You don’t do your physical therapy. Idiot.”

Suga’s cheeks puff up from the laugh he is trying desperately to hold in as Kazuya is berated for his poor attention to his health. For the next hour, Kageyama guides Kazuya through a series of stretches and exercises, explaining how often and why each of them should be done all the while.

For the first five years Suga knew Kageyama Tobio, he couldn’t imagine the younger man doing anything but volleyball. However, when an injury during college ball forced Kageyama to focus on his studies to keep from losing his place at university, something had sparked in him. Something that still surprises Suga, but in the best ways.

No one expected Kageyama Tobio to be the best sports therapist in Miyagi because of it, but that’s what he is and Suga is grateful.

When Kageyama signals the end of the session, Suga pulls his old kouhai aside and says, “Thank you so much for seeing him. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Kageyama casts a glance over at Kazuya and shakes his head. “I can’t believe he can still walk right now.”

“He can’t.” Suga looks down at his shoes. “He doesn’t take care of himself, so now that I know what to do, maybe I can help him.”

“Bring him by tomorrow and the next day, and any time he’s in town. More if you can.”

Suga reels in surprise. “Wait, how do you know when he’s in town?”

“Suga-san, everybody knows who he is.” Kageyama gives him a pinched look. “Don’t you?”

“Um, vaguely.” Suga chuckles nervously. “I just tell him what to wear so he doesn’t dress like an idiot.”

Kageyama bobs his head. “Good. You’ll be good for him.”

“I hope so.” Suga hugs his own chest and watches Kazuya battle his sweats. “He needs somebody to care about him.”

“Good luck, Suga-san.” Kageyama holds out his hand, and Suga takes it before pulling his surprised friend into a brisk hug.

“Thank you, Tobio.”

After loosing a stiff and awkward Kageyama, Suga collects a tired-looking Kazuya and helps him to his feet. “Easy now. You need to rest and do your stretches later today.”

“I’m not made of glass, Suga-chan,” Kazuya says through clenched teeth. “And you weren’t kidding when you said he was moody. I’m afraid to ask what he was like before.”

Suga shakes his head. “Oh, you deserved all of that. You’re lucky he didn’t make you stay in the room and lock you in.”

“He can’t do that.” Kazuya frowns. “He can’t do that, right?”

“Well . . .” Suga recollects his stint with a broken leg and his refusal to wear his immobilizer tightly enough because it was too hot and itched. Then the twelve hours held hostage in Kageyama’s office until he demonstrated the correct method of securing its straps as well as prolonged correct use. “Telling him he can’t do something is more of a challenge than a boundary.”

“Ha! Sounds like a pitcher.”

“Sounds like _you_ ,” Suga replies. “You geniuses are all alike. All you want to do is win, and you don’t care how you do it or what you do to yourselves to get there. That’s why he’s in an office and not on a volleyball court. That’s why Tooru ended up here. That’s why you’re here.”

Suddenly very tired, Suga falls quiet and is grateful when Kazuya has the good grace to stay silent. Finally, he says, “Just please do what he wants you to do. I don’t want to watch you ruin yourself out of stubbornness.”

“So Suga-chan does care.”

“I never stopped.” Suga hails a taxi and gives the driver Daichi and Yui’s address. “Just because I want to cool off doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to you, so stop saying stupid things to rile me up.”

Kazuya sits back, suitably chastised, and doesn’t speak until he looks around the increasingly suburban neighborhood and asks, “Suga-chan, where are we going?”

“You need to be unavailable for a while,” Suga explains. “The game doesn’t start until 19:00, and you don’t have to be at the ballpark until 17:00. Until then, you’re coming with me.”

Kazuya is welcomed by a tired Yui, who offers coffee right away and a flustered Daichi, who Suga knows is biting his tongue to keep from turning into a ridiculous fanboy until he has to scuttle off to work. However, it’s Hiroshi who inspires Kazuya’s attention for a bulk of the afternoon.

Suga watches in amazement as Kazuya plays cards with a four year old for over an hour before moving on to racecars and building blocks. Beside him, Yui harrumphs. “I think he likes Kazuya-kun more than he likes Daichi. If you guys ever decide you want a kid, he’d be great with one.” She looks meaningfully at her slightly swollen belly. “Got one cooking right now.”

“I don’t think we’re quite that serious,” Suga denies, but even as he does, seeing the genuine warmth on Kazuya’s face as he helps Hiroshi write his name in crayon, something inside him demands that he not look away lest he miss the moment. “But you’re so right.”

It’s harder than Suga imagines it should be when he corrals Kazuya out the door an hour before he’s due to arrive at the ballpark, bidding a tearful goodbye to the smaller members of the Sawamura tribe.

In the cab, Kazuya keeps looking back at the rapidly shrinking outline of Daichi’s house and sighs. “She kind of reminds me of my mom.”

“She’s a great mother.” Suga smiles to himself as he recalls how hard Yui has worked to make a warm home for her children, giving up a career rather than let a stranger raise her kids, even after Daichi offered to do the same. “She thinks you’d be a pretty good dad yourself.”

Kazuya blanches. “Oh, no. I’d be awful. I’d end up making fun of a baby for crying instead of figuring out what’s broken.”

“Hopefully nothing is broken,” Suga says with an eye roll. “Don’t play dumb. You were great with Hiroshi. He doesn’t even like me as much as he does you, and he’s known me since he was born.”

A smile blooms on Kazuya’s face. “Yeah, he’s a fun little guy. Reminds me of another Sawamura I know, only he smells better.”

Suga laughs, not entirely sure why, but this calmer, looser side of Kazuya is one that he’s glad he gets to see. Even if it’s just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kazuya's wordplay on Kageyama's name comes from the first kanji of Kageyama, which means 'shadow'. It's just him being a total dweeb.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of dark and really reflects some of the less pretty sides of depression and ptsd. Please read with that in mind.

The next few days peel by in a hurry, with mornings spent with Kageyama, afternoons at the Sawamura household with Yui angling to keep Kazuya as a live-in babysitter and chef after the lunch he cooks to thank her for her hospitality, and evenings with Suga lying on the floor in front of the television, wishing Kazuya was close enough to touch as the screen that shows his face all night.

“Dude,” Daichi says as Suga scrapes himself off of the floor on the third night, “you know you really like him, right?”

“Shut up,” Suga grumbles as he hugs his knees on the couch. “It’s not like that. We’re just supposed to help each other out with stuff.”

Daichi shakes his head. “Sure, I get that, but that’s not what this is, Suga. He matters to you.”

“Of course, he does.” Suga flops against Daichi’s side and sighs. “He probably shouldn’t so much, but he does. He’s a hard man not to care about, especially when he’s so emotionally constipated and clueless about himself.”

He feels Daichi turn beside him. “Oh?”

Suga nods into Daichi’s sleeve. “Yeah. If he knows how broken he is over losing his career to injury, he’s not letting on. He just . . . says things sometimes that make me worry that it’s starting to hit him. I don’t want him to feel like he’s alone when it does, either.”

“Suga . . .” Daichi huffs and rubs his temples. “You can’t feel responsible for that. It’s not your job to fix him.”

“I know.” Suga wraps his arms around Daichi’s and groans. “I don’t want to fix him because he’s fine the way he is. I just want him to take care of himself and to realize that he’s got the rest of his life to live. He’s just so lost right now.”

Daichi shakes his head as he ruffles Suga’s hair. “Nah, he’s not lost. You’d never let him be.”

Suga elbows Daichi with a grin on his face. “Stop sounding all knowing, Sawamura. Remember when you couldn’t even pick out a ring, let alone figure out how to ask Yui to marry you? She ended up doing it herself.”

“And there it is again.” Daichi hugs Suga into his side. “I like you better when you’re making fun of me. You being upset about things is too weird.”

“I’m going to miss this,” Suga murmurs. “Being an old married couple —”

“While Yui wonders if she married me or both of us,” Daichi finishes. “Yeah. I’ll miss us, too.”

Suga is quiet for a while until he asks, “Do you really think he’ll be all right?”

“Sure do.” Daichi smiles into Suga’s hair. “He’s got you, so he wouldn’t dare not be okay. I should know; I’ve been there.”

“Thanks, Daichi.” Suga signs and closes his eyes. “For everything.”

Wrapped in Daichi’s borrowed warmth, Suga falls asleep, only to awake an hour later alone and to the sound of his phone blaring in his pocket. Scrambling to pull it out, he sees it’s Kazuya and answers right away. “Hey, you.”

“You sound sleepy.”

Yawning, Suga answers, “Yeah. I kind of fell asleep on Daichi. Luckily, he’s used to it by now.”

“You’re cute when you sleep.”

Suga’s breath catches. “So are you.”

“Suga-chan?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you going back to Tokyo tonight or in the morning?”

Shrugging before he remembers he’s alone, Suga answers, “Probably tomorrow. Why?”

“The rest of the team and crew are going back tonight, but I booked my room for an extra night and I would really like to spend it with you.”

The smile is automatic as Suga’s posture softens. “I’d love to. Just let me get my stuff together and say goodbye to my hosts.”

“I’m happy, Suga-chan. I’ll see you in a bit.”

More eager than he is willing to admit, Suga rushes around to shove his belongings into his bag. In the kitchen, Daichi is washing the dishes from dinner while Yui feeds little Takeshi. “I —”

“You’re still here?” Yui raises a brow. “I figured you’d be with Kazuya-kun.”

“Actually . . .” Suga blushes. “I’m going there now. I just wanted to say goodbye.” Daichi looks over his shoulder and gives Suga a small nod. “And thank you. For everything.”

Yui grins. “Don’t be a stranger. I expect to see you more than once a year.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Suga moves to give her the tightest hug he can without disturbing the nursing toddler. “Take care of Mama, Takeshi.”

Takeshi blinks at Suga in response before resuming his meal.  Suga departs the Sawamura household with a lump in his throat. He didn’t realize how much he missed his best friends until he spent the past few days here, but he also looks forward to the sanctity of his tiny Tokyo apartment and the peace it will provide.

But for the night, the heaviest thoughts in his mind are of Kazuya.

As he walks to the nearby bus stop to catch the last line of the night downtown, Suga dwells on what Daichi had said about Kazuya being all right because Suga won’t let him falter. Suga doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to carry Kazuya to where he needs to be; he isn’t even sure Kazuya would let him. Even while being sabotaged by his own body, Kazuya still exhibits a fierce level of independence that Suga has neither the will not inclination to break.

All he can hope, Suga muses as he rides a nearly empty bus to the city center, is that the physical therapy has enough of a mental effect that worrying about any of this will be unnecessary.

The bus stops one street over from the hotel. Suga enters and heads straight for the elevators, the bag on his shoulder diverting any odd looks from security. On the third floor, he headed straight for room 322, smiling when he sees the door propped open by a rolled up baseball program.

Inside, the room is dark, save for the dull flash of the television as it casts a soft glow on the large bed. Kazuya is draped on top of the covers, scrolling through the channels without even looking at them. “Hello, Suga-chan.”

“Hi, Kazuya.” Suga drops his bag as the door clicks shut behind him. “Did you do your stretches?”

“I did.” He drops the remote on the bedside table and stretches his limbs. “See. All limber.”

Suga sits on the edge of the bed and smooths his fingertips over the outline of Kazuya’s left knee through his sweatpants. “Kageyama thinks if you do things right, you won’t have to deal with your knees giving out on you so much. Just please keep on doing what he tells you to do.”

Kazuya reaches forward and covers Suga’s hand with his own. “I would be stupid not to. Especially since Suga-chan would never forgive me if I didn’t.” He holds out his other hand and beckons to Suga. “Now, for the main event.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Suga says, even as he leans back to fit into Kazuya’s side.

“Exhausted.” He buries his face in Suga’s hair, lips tickling the tips of Suga’s ear. “But now that you’re here, I’d very much like to go to sleep. The first bullet train for Tokyo leaves at five, but I’m thinking the eight o’clock will be better. I’d rather stay in bed all morning.”

Suga turns and gapes at Kazuya’s serene smile. “You just want to . . . just like this?”

“Just like this.” Kazuya coaxes off Suga’s jacket and reaches for the fly of his jeans. “Don’t act so surprised.”

“Well, we haven’t —” Suga blushes. “It’s been a few days. I thought you were just in the mood.”

Kazuya’s smile falters but stays as his eyes close. “Have you ever just . . . wanted someone to touch you?”

“Sometimes,” Suga admits as he wriggles out of his jeans without dislodging his spot in Kazuya’s side. “You say that like it’s strange for you.”

“No.” Kazuya’s voice cracks. “It’s not the first time. I’ve just never —”

Suga’s heart lurches at the words never spoken. “Kazuya,” he breathes as his arms latch around Kazuya’s waist.

There are a dozen things Suga itches to say, but all he can do is sink into Kazuya’s warmth as the bedcovers drape around them. They fall asleep to the din of the television, wrapped in each other, and one of Suga’s final conscious final thoughts was that he doesn’t mind this side of Kazuya at all.

 

The ride back to Tokyo is spent with Suga and Kazuya taking turns explaining foreign concepts of veterinary research and baseball analytics, respectively. By the end of the trip, Kazuya is likely better informed on the evolution of pet vaccinations than he ever cared to be, and Suga’s head is spinning from the avalanche of numbers that live in Kazuya’s head as a basic function of his job.

They head to Seikatsu no Mame for coffee and sandwiches, with Kazuya steering far away from the Suicide Specials, instead settling on a milder green tea.

“Coffee just doesn’t taste the same after Yui-chan,” he remarks, and Suga understands immediately. “It was strong without being gross. Your Sawamura is a lucky man.”

Memories of Kazuya’s time spent with Daichi’s family burn in Suga’s mind. The ease, the patience, the sheer joy of helping Hiroshi form his first hiragana — they did something to Kazuya that Suga has never seen in him before. If he has to put a finger on it, he might believe that this is how Kazuya was in his purest form as a baseball player. When the force of his elation made the game that much greater.

Suga’s almost forgotten that feeling, but it still settles familiarly in his chest.

“You should think about it, you know,” Suga blurts. “Having a kid of your own. Yui thinks you’d be amazing, and she doesn’t just say that about anyone.”

Kazuya stops mid-drink, his cheeks bulging with the effort not to spit all over their lunch. “What brought that on?”

Suga sits back and lets his head roll back. Staring at the ceiling, he says, “Oh, I don’t know. Something Daichi says about being a parent. About trying to compare it to how you feel as a kid knowing your mom and dad are always there for you, but you can’t because it’s so much stronger.”

His cup settling on the table by a shaking hand, Kazuya holds onto his sandwich too tightly as he says, “Well, I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, you do.” Suga isn’t sure how he knows this, but he does. He can’t fathom someone who doesn’t understand that kind of emotion calling Suga just to be next to him. Being best friends with an ex-boyfriend because he cares too much to let go.

All at once, Miyuki Kazuya is no longer a puzzle to Suga. “You have a lot to offer, Kazuya, but don’t forget that you’re not just giving. You get so much more in return.” Suga sighs and picks up his own sandwich. “Just think about it. Not now, but sometime in the future.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them speak until it’s time to part ways, with Kazuya solemnly promising to do his exercises and to send pictures of his chosen wardrobe before he leaves the house.

Suga’s apartment feels strange after spending so much time in Sendai. He looks around at his largely unpacked space and at the still sprawled out futon in front of the television, lips quirking as he picks up his pillow and takes a long drag off of its scent.

It’s barely there, but Kazuya’s smell still lingers, as well as the spicy aroma of lovemaking. He shivers just a little as he thinks back on the memory of Kazuya coming undone beneath him, searching for as much of Suga as he can grasp. The feeling of Kazuya’s body so tightly wrapped around him, making it so hard not to come on the spot.

Suga looks away and tosses his pillow onto his bed before rolling up the futon and stuffing it into the nearest closet.

The rest of Suga’s time before work flies by, with very little time spent in Kazuya’s presence. Instead, brief afternoon phone calls largely concerning wardrobe and cooking help dominate their time together. Suga takes a picture of the first meal he makes without help and sends it to Kazuya; Kazuya takes a photo of himself after selecting his own attire and Suga is suitably impressed by the lack of an oddball garment to skew the overall image.

And before he knows it, he’s making his own breakfast before his first day on the job and wishing he had someone to share it with.

Suga’s new job is everything he had hoped it would be. The atmosphere is fun but professional, and his supervisor takes great interest in his questions and his ideas. He’s almost breathless when he calls Kazuya on his lunch to gush about his excitement.

“Oh, Suga-chan! I thought you were at work.”

Still grinning, Suga replies, “Oh, I am. I’m on lunch now. I just wanted to tell _somebody_ how much I love it here. You were the first person I thought of to call.”

Kazuya falls silent on his end of the line, and Suga’s smile falters. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Of course not. I’m happy for you, Suga-chan.”

Suga’s mood evaporates as it hits him. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Kazuya. I didn’t think before I called.”

“Suga-chan, it’s —”

“I just got so excited!” The words rush out of him breathlessly. “And I talk to you more than anybody, so I called out of inst—”

“Koushi.”

The unfamiliar sound of his given in Kazuya’s voice finally halts Suga’s ramble. “Kazuya? Are you all right?”

It’s a few seconds before Suga hears the low rumble of chuckling on Kazuya’s end, and the tension oozes out of him. “So I didn’t upset you?”

The chuckling dissolves into wheezing laughter, and Suga’s skin prickles in excitement at the sound. “What’s so funny?”

Suga listens to the sound, and his blood runs cold. Something in it has changed, but before he can demand an explanation, the call drops and his phone screen flashes the end of the brief call.

Legs shaking as he returns to his work station, Suga’s mind is unfocused and his hands uncoordinated as he continues the spread of cultures. It isn’t until he drops his third beaker into a spray of glass onto the floor that his supervisor, Akiyama, comes over with a tight look on his face.

“Sugawara, is everything all right?”

“Fine!” Suga pipes with his voice half an octave higher than usual. “I just —” He clears his throat. “I just got a phone call over lunch and my brain is somewhere else right now. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.” For good measure, he bows to the older man, hoping he hasn’t made an ass of himself on his first day.

Akiyama puts a warm hand on Suga’s shoulder. “Is there someone at home who needs you?”

“No, it’s —” Suga cuts off his word, not ready to out himself to someone he doesn’t really know, but the stress pounding in his chest like blood doesn’t care. “It’s my boyfriend.”

Slumping into his chair, Suga’s head drapes tiredly. “He just lost his career because his body won’t let him do it anymore, and he’s not adjusting well.”

Looking over Suga's workstation, Akiyama hums and says, "Well, you're making very good time. Finish setting up your cultures, and you can take off a little early today."

"It's that going to be okay?" Suga bites his lip and frowns. "I know I'm new, and this can't look good for -"

"Think nothing of it, Sugawara-kun." Akiyama cuts of Suga's stammering with a raised hand. "Family comes first."

Blinking in surprise, Suga gasps, "Akiyama-san."

Gesturing to Suga's work, Akiyama says, "This is your first day, and you're already two days ahead of schedule. I know hard work when I see it, and as long as I run this lab, I will not allow good work to go unnoticed or unrewarded. I expect good things from you, Sugawara-kun, so consider this an investment into that expectation."

Suga vaults to his feet and bows deeply. "Thank you so much, Akiyama-san. I won't let you down."

"And I believe you." He claps Suga on the arm. "Now finish up and get out of here."

"Yes, sir!"

It takes Suga less than twenty minutes to finish his work, and he practically sprints out of the building. A tense knot tightens in his belly as he heads to the street, feeding a mounting sense of foreboding, prompting him to hail a cab rather than spend an extra half hour on the train. He slips the driver an extra thousand to shave ten minutes or more of the trip, and in one third of the time it had taken Suga to get to work in the morning, he jumps out of the taxi in front of Kazuya's building.

The doorman waves to Suga as he flies by, opting for the stairs rather than wait for the elevator. He fumbles for his keys, thankful that Kazuya trusts him enough to carry the spare key to his unit.

Inside, Suga hears the sound of breaking glass, and he can't command his hands to steady themselves enough to get the key into the lock. Finally, he coaxes the key into the slot and flings open the door, and the sight that greets him makes jaw drop.

Strewn across the floor is an array of shattered picture frames, their cheery faces distorted by shards of glass. Ribbons and trophies and memorabilia lie in tattered clumps all over the room. The poster of Chris Takigawa hangs half-ripped from its frame.

In the midst of the destruction sits Kazuya, chest heaving as he slumps against the wall, knees grinding into the glass as bloody fists pound on the drywall, and words Suga can’t make out spew out in hissing breaths.

Suga pays no mind to the detritus as he runs across the room and yanks Kazuya to his feet. He has never been so aware of the power coiled in Kazuya’s body until limbs thrash for freedom against Suga’s grasp, angry grunts punctuating every attempt.

“Stop fighting!” Suga screeches as he clamps his arms around Kazuya’s chest, banding his arms to his sides. They stagger awkwardly towards the couch, where Suga pushes Kazuya face-first into the cushions and pins him down with all his weight.

Tears stream down his face as he rests his forehead against the back of Kazuya’s sweating neck. “Please stop.” Bile rises in Suga’s throat as his own heart hammers in his chest, with fear and panic racing through his every nerve. “Please,” he pleads once again.

Slowly, Kazuya’s body sags limply into the couch, the only signs of life his shaking shoulders. Suga doesn’t move for fear of Kazuya lashing out or, worse, doing more damage than he has already done. Even from the periphery of his vision, the devastation is staggering. Everything baseball has been ripped from the walls and crushed to bits on the floor. Even the precious group photo of Kazuya’s high school team, the people he talks about the most, is amidst the tangled disarray.

“I —” Kazuya pants into the fabric of the couch. “I can’t do this anymore.” His voice peters off into a harsh croak, the confession punctuated by a shuddering breath.

“I’m so sorry, Kazuya,” Suga murmurs against his skin. “I wish I could —” He chokes back a sob. “I wish I could help you.”

Kazuya’s skin is now clammy against Suga as he begins to shiver. “What’s wrong with me?”

Suga runs his fingers through Kazuya’s hair in gentle strokes until the shaking dies down. “If I let you up, are you going to fight me?”

“No.”

Slowly, Suga leans back with his arms still around Kazuya, who lets Suga guide his movement until they are both burrowed into the plush back of the couch. Kazuya buries his face in the crook of Suga’s shoulder as their fingers lace together on Suga’s thigh.

“Let me see your hands,” Suga orders softly.

Kazuya lets Suga grab his wrist and closely inspects the damage. Suga is relieved that very few of the scrapes are more than superficial. One scratch still trickles blood, so Suga folds over his fingers and presses to stanch the flow. “Oh, look at you,” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss on Kazuya’s reddened knuckles.

“I —” Kazuya shrinks into Suga’s side. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Suga holds Kazuya until he’s sure neither of them are too shaken to sit up under their own power, but it’s late in the afternoon and he knows Kazuya will be expected in the broadcast booth very soon. “Kazuya, where’s your phone?”

“Charger in the bedroom.”

Kazuya doesn’t stop Suga from leaving the couch and taking Kazuya’s phone. He scrolls through dozens of contacts he doesn’t recognize until he finds one name that is vaguely familiar and dials.

“Miyuki, where the hell are you?”

Recalling the voice and relieved he remembered correctly, Suga sighs. “Osaka-san, you don’t know me, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Who are you, then? Where’s Miyuki?”

Suga contemplates explaining the situation for a brief moment before ruling out that possibility. Instead, he settles on a half-truth. “My name is Sugawara Koushi, and I was hired by Miyuki-san to help him with his wardrobe. Miyuki-san is ill and won’t be able to come in tonight. I’m very sorry.”

Osaka groans. “He lost it, didn’t he?”

Stepping back in surprise, Suga can only manage a yelp of, “What?”

“I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did.” There’s a long, tired sigh on the other end of the line. “I’ll let management know. We’ve got a guy on the DL we could probably get in for the rest of this home stretch. Make him stay home and take care of himself.”

“How did you know?”

Osaka laughs humorlessly. “How could I not? That boy lost everything he’s ever loved. I don’t know if you knew him when he was a player, but he was just so in love with the game. He’s a different person now.”

“I figured.” Suga looks back through the open bedroom door at Kazuya, flexing his blood-crusted hands before curling into a ball onto the couch. “I see it sometimes.”

“Sugawara-kun, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“Give him a chance. He’s a good kid, and he needs someone who can talk to him like a regular guy.”

Suga nods into the phone, a weight being lifted from his chest that Kazuya has not been suffering unnoticed since his forced retirement. “I will.”

“Thank you, Sugawara-kun. And give Kazuya my best.”

Smiling wanly, Suga says, “I will. Have a good broadcast, Osaka-san.”

The call ends, and Suga deflates as the pressure of the situation begins to finally wane. However, his back jolts to full attention when he hears Kazuya’s voice behind him. “You didn’t have to do that. I could have done it.”

“It doesn’t matter who does it, Kazuya.” Suga drops the phone on the bed. “You can’t leave home like this.”

“I know.” He pads across the room and wraps his arms around Suga’s waist. “Thank you, Suga-chan.”

Suga leans into Kazuya’s touch, wholly glad that he is no longer required to be steady when his true desire is to melt into the floor. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll relax for a while.

Kazuya complies as Suga cleans the scrapes and gouges on various parts of his body. He doesn’t make a sound when Suga dabs peroxide over the worst of them, and thanks Suga again when he’s done.

It’s not even sunset, but Suga is so very tired. Kazuya droops against him on the edge of the bed, so with a soft kiss on the forehead, Suga says, “Go ahead and lie down. I’ll just be a minute.”

Hoping Kazuya doesn’t see, Suga slips the previously discarded phone into his trouser pocket and heads for the bathroom. When the door is closed, he turns on the faucet before taking out the phone and shooting one text.

_Not Kazuya. I think he needs you._

Wrapping up the phone in his pile of shed clothing, Suga climbs into bed next to Kazuya and isn’t surprised when he’s immediately ensnared by Kazuya’s embrace.

Despite his tired eyes, Suga doesn’t sleep at all. His mind’s eye is haunted by the parade of images burned into his brain that afternoon. It’s well past dark before his eyelids start to droop, only to fly back open when he hears someone pounding on the door.

Carefully extricating himself from Kazuya’s reach, Suga darts out of the room, taking a roundabout way to the door to avoid the still-scattered glass, and flings open the door.

On the other side is a guy close to his own age, with the worst haircut Suga’s ever seen, dark circles under his eyes, and a sneer that could curdle milk. “Kuramochi-kun?”

Without waiting to be invited in, Kuramochi steps past Suga and surveys the results of Kazuya’s rampage.

“Holy shit.” Kuramochi turns to Suga and without preamble spits, “You better start talking.”


	7. Chapter 7

It all spills out of Suga like a lanced wound. He tells Kuramochi everything that has plagued his thoughts when it comes to Kazuya, and Kuramochi listens with a stony expression until Suga finishes. Every moment, every sign he had allowed to pass by that had told him what was coming.

When Suga completes his detailed anatomy of Kazuya's breakdown, he finds that he is utterly exhausted from the effort. Not just because it's almost midnight on a work day, but from reliving all of these micro-fractures that he hadn't realized were building until they shattered.

"Dude," Kuramochi says as he flops back onto the couch. "All of that shit, and you're still here?" He reaches out a hand and gives Suga's shoulder a light swat. "You're a good guy, Sugawara."

Suga can't bring himself to take Kuramochi's compliment to heart, instead opting to curl his arms around his legs as he hugs them to his chest. "I don't know what to do." He sighs and plops his chin on his knees. "He's so broken and it's too much to handle, but he needs something that I can't give him. I don't even know what 'it' is."

Kuramochi grunts. "Don't do that to yourself, man. It's his problem and he's gotta fix it. It's not your job to put him back together."

"Then what _am_ I supposed to do?" Tears prick in Suga's eyes. "I can't just leave him like this, and he deserves better than that. He's given _everything_ , and this is what he's left with." He sniffles loudly. "This sucks."

"Damn it, Miyuki," Kuramochi grumbles. "I don't know what to do with you, either."

"That makes three of us," comes Kazuya's soft voice from the bedroom door. Both Suga and Kuramochi turn to take in his disheveled form. Glasses crooked, hair sticking every which way, and sunken eyes set in a face too pale for his usual sun-kissed coloring.

Kuramochi blinks. "Wow. You look like shit, Miyuki."

"I _feel_ like shit," Kazuya answers as he traverses the minefield of glass. He goes directly to Suga and lies down with his head in Suga's lap. Out of habit, Suga's fingers feather through Kazuya's hair before rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades.

Suga notices Kuramochi watching this scene unfold, but he doesn't stop. He's too tired to fight the pleasant warmth that seems to bloom when Kazuya is like this — gentle, serene, and close.

"So that's how it is," Kuramochi finally says after tearing his eyes away from them. He shakes his head and chuckles. "I leave you alone for a month, and you go and fall for a guy who's way too good for you." He lifts up a leg and swats Kazuya in the rear with it. "Now, don't fuck it up."

Kazuya shakes his head in Suga's lap. "Suga-chan would never let me." Yawning, he wraps his arms around Suga's middle and buries his face in Suga's belly.

Suga's belly flops at the sight and nearly misses the conversation that precedes it. "Wait, what?"

Kuramochi smiles as he reclines. "I didn't say anything. What about you, Miyuki?"

"Mochi is noisy," Kazuya mumbles against Suga's stomach, and Suga giggles at the sensation. "Suga-chan is better."

"Why am I even friends with you? Asshole." Kuramochi barks as he crosses his arms in a huff. Looking around the room, his eyes settle on the ripped poster as he huffs. "So, Chris-senpai had to go?"

Kazuya's arms tug on Suga just a little bit tighter as he answers, "I finally understood what it was like for him. To see someone take what you want and not be able to fight back. Just for a minute, I hated him for it. Then I just couldn't stop."

Kuramochi stands and wades through the shrapnel, glass crunching under his shoes, and he picks up a bent picture frame and shakes it clean. "I still got mine. I'll make sure you get a new one." He squints at it and hums. "One where Sawamura's head isn't stabbed off. Furuya's looking way too happy about it, too."

Kazuya shivers in Suga's arms. "I can't look at them anymore."

"Then don't hang it up." Kuramochi braves the glass and rescues Kazuya's torn and frayed memories one by one. He sets them in a pile on the kotatsu and sits back down. "You throw those out and you're gonna regret it, Kazuya."

"I know." Kazuya loosens his grip on Suga and rolls over to meet Kuramochi's gaze. "Thank you, Youichi."

Suga feels like an outsider in this moment between old friends. Kazuya's and Kuramochi's relationship is nothing like Suga's and Daichi's, but even amidst the barbs and the quips, something is there that Suga knows will anchor them together for the next twenty years, as well.

Above all, it gives Suga hope that Kazuya can rebuild. If he can earn the loyalty of a man willing to drive all the way from Chiba at the drop of a hat, he can dust himself off and stand up straight again.

But all that can wait until the morning, Suga thinks as he yawns loudly. Going in to work that day seems like a week to Suga, rather than the matter of hours it really is.

"Suga-chan needs to sleep." Kazuya sits up and frees Suga to stand.

Suga wills his limbs to pull himself off the couch before hoisting Kazuya up after him. "So do you." On impulse, he tugs Kazuya close and nuzzles the curve of his shoulder. "I'm glad you're okay."

Kazuya locks Suga in a fierce, breath-stealing hug. "Thank you, Suga-chan," he gasps into Suga's hair. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Suga closes his eyes, a serene smile taking over as he holds onto Kazuya.

Kuramochi clears his throat. "That's sweet and all, but I wanna keep my dinner down." He stretches out and kicks off his shoes. "See you nerds in the morning."

"Thank you, Kuramochi-kun," Suga answers, accepting Kuramochi's nod of acknowledgment as a 'you're welcome' as he puts an arm around Kazuya's shoulders. "Let's go, and watch the glass."

Soon, they tuck into bed, but this time, Suga gains a sense of peace that he had lacked before Kuramochi's arrival. A sense of peace that heralds something even brighter beneath it:

Hope.

Suga wakes to a lonely bed and the smell of cooking food. He lists to the side, throwing a bleary eye at the clock on the nightstand, only to sit straight up when he sees that it's half past six. "Crap."

He scrambles around the room until he's relatively dressed and makes his way out to the kitchen. He belatedly remembers the spray of glass, only to look down at the floor and finally notice that the bulk of the mess has been corralled against the wall.

Padding into the kitchen, Suga yawns loudly and says, "Can't stay long. Need a change of clothes."

"Then grab something of Kazuya's," comes Kuramochi's voice, much to Suga's surprise. At the stove, Kuramochi is stirring something in a skillet while draped in the same t-shirt Suga had worn the week before.

"Where'd he go?" Suga asks, scratching his head. "Is he okay?"

Kuramochi scrapes the contents of the skillet onto a plate, stabs a fork into it, and hands it to Suga. "Yeah, he's good. He said he had an errand to run and that you'd know what it was."

Suga sighs as he shovels a forkful of the surprisingly tasty breakfast into his mouth, with visions of Suicide Specials dancing in his head. "Mmm, my angel of mercy."

At the table, Kuramochi sits down with his own plate and eats with a stony expression that Suga can't quite read. Halfway through the meal, he drops his fork and asks, "Sugawara, can I ask you something?"

"'Course," Suga says past his mouthful of eggs.

"Why are you with him?"

Suga gulps past the knot in his throat and pushes away his plate, not sure how to answer the question. "Well, um, I just —" He scratches his head. "I don't actually know. I just . . . like him."

"Which is all manners of fucking weird, when you actually know the guy." Kuramochi eats another mouthful, chewing as he stares down Suga. Finally, he says, "No, there's something else. What you saw yesterday would have scared the shit out of any normal person, but you stayed. Why?"

"Because he's Kazuya," Suga says, not sure how else to respond. "Who he pretends to be isn't who he is. The man I know can sit on the floor all day drawing with a kid and never stops smiling. He calls me and asks if I could come over just so he can sleep next to me." His eyes drift closed and he smiles widely. "And he knows how I like my coffee."

On cue, the door clamors open, and Kazuya whisks into the kitchen with a drink holder laden with various beverages, as well as a bag over his shoulder. First, he hands the tallest one to Suga, with a sing-songed, "Your poison, good sir."

"Mmm." Suga inhales the heady scent of superbly strong coffee. "You're an angel."

Kazuya leaves a soft peck on Suga's lips before dropping a cup in front of Kuramochi. "Your swill."

"Fuck off," Kuramochi growls, even as he pops off the plastic lid and takes a long drag. "It's delicious."

Suga sniffs around Kuramochi's cup. "Oh, chai! It's my mom's favorite."

Kazuya snickers into his hand as Kuramochi gives Suga a dirty look, angrily sipping his tea.

Breakfast finishes peacefully, with Suga ending his own meal in favor of a shower before getting ready for work. When he comes out, towel draped around his waist, there is a small pile of clothes laid out for him on the bed that look very familiar. Reclined against the pillows is Kazuya, eyes closed and smirk present.

"Did you . . ."

"Yep."

Suga is mildly impressed that Kazuya had been able to select something Suga might have chosen for himself. "Thank you. Now I don't have to go home before work."

Kazuya's smile turns into a wry harrumph. "Well, it's the least I can do."

"Kazuya." Suga sighs and plops on the bed. "The only thing you owe me is to do your best to get better. I came home early because I thought you were in trouble and I wanted to help you." He reaches out and snares Kazuya's hand with his own. "I could've talked myself out of being worried about you, but I didn't because you matter to me. Anything I've ever done with you and for you is because of that and nothing else. Do you understand me?"

Wide eyed, Kazuya stares at Suga, not responding to his words, and Suga's heart lurches. Suga continues, despite not knowing what to say to erase that lost look on Kazuya's face. "You know I don't give a crap about baseball, but I know what it means to you. I understand how hard it is for you to lose it, but it isn't everything you are.

"I've never known you as anything but Kazuya, the cute guy I spilled my coffee on a month ago, and that part of you has always been enough for me." He picks up Kazuya's hand and kisses the breadth of his palm. "I just hope you can find it in your heart for that guy to be enough for you, too."

Their eyes meet, and a crooked smile lances across Kazuya's face. "That had to be embarrassing to say out loud, Suga-chan."

Suga chuckles. "Yeah, a little, but I don't care. You're worth it."

All Suga can do is yelp when Kazuya's arms wrap around him and heft them together, Suga's scantily covered middle brushing up against the rough fabric of Kazuya's jeans. "Suga-chan is sweet," Kazuya murmurs against Suga's lips. "You smell like coffee."

"And you taste like tardiness," Suga answers, leaving a long, languorous kiss on Kazuya's lips before reluctantly sliding away and over to the pile of clothes. "Maybe when I get home."

He looks over to see Kazuya smile softly before touching his lips. "Suga-chan said 'home'."

Suga stops right after slapping the waistband of his underwear in place. He did say that, and it hadn't been anything but how he felt. And he knows right away that he isn't talking about this apartment or even his own, but this tall, beautiful man that has insinuated himself into every aspect of Suga's life in just under a month.

He finishes getting dressed feeling lighter than he has in a while.

As he finishes gathering up what he needs for work, Kuramochi finishes the dishes wearing that same ridiculous apron and glove set Kazuya had used before, and said, "I'm going to stay for a few days so you can go to work without worrying. He told me it's a new job, and you probably shouldn't screw that up."

"What about you?" Suga asks, his eyes glued to the apron. "You gave that to him, didn't you?"

Kuramochi lets out a laugh that makes Suga wish he had known this man decades ago, such is its glory. "Yeah, I did." He shrugs. "I own my shop and I have a good floor manager. I can leave them alone for a few days without the place burning down." At Suga's raised brow, he amends, "I own a motorcycle shop."

"Does that mean I can call you Biker-chan?" Suga jokes. Sort of.

"Not even close," Kuramochi threatens with a smile. "Hey, I mean it. Thank you for not letting this dickhead scare you away. He needs someone scarier than him. You don't look like it, but you totally have the power to set him straight."

Suga slaps Kuramochi on the shoulder, sending him lurching forward with an _oomph_. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Holy crap," Kuramochi grunts as he rubs his shoulder. "No wonder he likes you. You must be a beast in the sack."

Face red, Suga squeaks a quick goodbye and flees to the sound of Kuramochi's infectious laughter. Fortified by his favorite coffee and the lingering feeling that everything might just turn out all right, Suga heads in to work ready to take on the world.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Suga's day flies by, and before he knows it, he's on the bus home and eager to see what Kazuya and Kuramochi have done with their days. Akiyama had asked after Kazuya, and Suga had been able to reply with an honest level of positivity. The old man had been genuinely happy to hear it, which had bolstered Suga's efforts and sent him even further ahead in his debut research project.

As he walks from the bus stop, Suga ducks into a nearby flower shop to make an impulse purchase and leaves with an armload of sunflowers.

However, Suga returns to an empty apartment. Curious, he checks his phone, relieved to find that he had forgotten to turn it off silent and a text from an unknown contact, which he figures is Kuramochi judging by the message.  _Getting rid of his nasty clothes. I hope earthquake victims like polyester._

Suga guffaws and settles in for the evening. The sunflowers are now perched in the center of the kotatsu while Suga flicks through the tv channels hoping to strike rerun gold. Instead, he finds a sports news show running it's nightly broadcast, but what grips Suga is the large Swallows logo in the bottom ticker and Kazuya's name sprawling above a caption that reads, "Miyuki Kazuya: Injured or Cast Out?"

"What the hell?" Suga mumbles as he listens to what the newsman is saying.

Suga's good mood withers and leaves a gnawing sense of dread when pictures flit across the screen.

Pictures of him and Kazuya.

Three of them flash one after another. The first is definitely from their stay in Sendai, with them leaving the hotel together. Next is one from their grocery shopping day, shoulder to shoulder as they lean into one another while walking out of the store.

The last photo is the damning one, Suga thinks, as he is sharply reminded of the first night he even knew Kazuya, that slight but sure hand hold as Suga met him outside the building.

“Where did they even get these?” Suga wonders aloud, groping for his phone because he can’t tear his eyes away from the television.

“So it really raises the question,” the newsman says, “of whether Miyuki-san actually left the sport due to injury, or if Swallows management found out about his true nature and wanted it out of their locker rooms.”

Rage bubbles inside of Suga, and he barely resists throwing his phone at the tv screen. Yet he isn’t nearly as angry as he is a moment later when the newsman continues.

“And one must wonder whether Miyuki-san’s departure from the Swallows telecast is a coincidence, or whether the timing of these photos surfacing played a role in that.” The shot flashes to a camera following Osaka while entering the ball park, who walks by without breaking stride, only offering a chorus of, “No comment.”

“Miyuki-san’s own broadcast partner refuses to comment,” the newsman continues, “but in this case, silence says it all.”

At the bottom of the screen, a poll pops up, along with a link to the news network’s website, asking fans to vote on one single question:

_Is Miyuki Kazuya gay?_

Suga doesn’t hear the door open, but he jumps at the sound of a bag hitting the floor. When he spins around, he sees Kazuya gaping at the television, his hand still clenched around a duffel bag that is no longer there. Kuramochi rubs his temple with his eyes closed and says, “Well, that kind of sucks.”

Rushing over to where Kazuya stands like a statue, Suga wraps his arms around him and says softly, “I’m so sorry. We should have been more careful.”

“No, Suga-chan,” Kazuya finally croaks. “I wanted —” He takes a deep breath and holds onto Suga a little more tightly. “I wanted something that wasn’t mine to take, and this is the price. I knew this would happen eventually.”

Kuramochi pulls them apart to glare at Kazuya, hissing, “And you’re just going to accept that? Some asshole decides that selling a few crappy cell phone pictures of you to the tabloids is worth ruining you? They’ll probably never let you back into another stadium again unless you’re buying tickets if they decide there’s enough merit to these rumors or if public opinion is strong enough.”

“I know!” Kazuya lances his fingers through his hair and turns away. “I don’t know what to do.”

Suga’s hand curls around Kazuya’s wrist before threading between his fingers. Giving a soft squeeze, he says, “Whatever you want to do, we’ll be there.”

Kazuya meets Suga's gaze and a slow smile begins to bloom. "Youichi?"

Kuramochi sighs and rolls his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Get out."

Alarmed, Suga looks back and forth between the two of them, yet can't determine what caused this shift in attitude. However, his worry is rendered moot when Kuramochi harrumphs and says, "Yeah, I don't want to listen to you guys fuckin', anyway." He claps Kazuya on the shoulder and says, "Don't hurt yourself. Jackass."

And now they are alone.

"Kazuya," Suga hums as he strokes a stubbled cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Probably not." His lips start a trail down the slope of Suga's neck. "Not going to think about that now," he murmurs between nips and sucks on Suga's tingling skin.

Suga bares as much skin as he can while he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. He gasps loudly when teeth sink into flesh at the base of his throat. "God, your mouth is magic."

Succumbing from a rising sense of urgency, they both scramble to divest each other of their clothing. It isn't until Kazuya has his hands down the back of Suga's underwear that they are halted by the tinny strains of the bad preset ringtone of Kazuya's phone.

"Maybe you should see who it is," Suga moans as Kazuya's fingers dig into his bottom.

"'M busy," Kazuya answers as he rolls his hips against Suga's. "They'll leave a message if it's important."

Suga pauses, fighting his baser urge to throw himself into Kazuya's efforts. "It might be management."

Sighing, Kazuya reaches into the pocket of his discarded sweats and looks at the contact information. His smile melts into an eye roll. "I can totally not take that one."

Peeking at the phone, Suga reads aloud, "Narumiya Mei. Anyone I know?"

"If there is justice in this universe, you never will." He shivers. "I've known him since I was twelve. He's, well . . . he's Mei."

Suga frowns. "Is he going to give you a hard time about . . . you know."

"Probably not." He hits the Accept Call button and adds, "I'll give you guess why he isn't playing anymore." He holds the phone a few inches from his face and says, “Hello, Mei.”

“Kazuya!” Mei’s voice brays through the receiver, making Suga reflexively recoil at the startling volume of it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hello to you, Mei.” Kazuya puts the phone on the kotatsu and hits the speaker. “Suga-chan, this is Mei. Mei, meet Suga-chan. Say hello to Suga-chan.”

“The guy from the pictures?”

Kazuya scratches his head. “What pictures?”

Suga gives him an odd look before realization dawns. “Oh, you missed that part. You just saw the poll.”

“Yeah, I definitely saw that.” Kazuya bites his lip. “Were they at least nice pictures?”

“Who is that?” Mei squawks. “Is that the guy?”

“Yes, Mei-san, I’m the guy from the pictures,” Suga answers. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, you sound cute.” Louder, Mei repeats, “He sounds cute, Kazuya!”

Kazuya is smirking as he replies, “Yeah, he’s completely cute. Especially because he’s bossy and complains about my clothes.”

“Because you dress like a toddler, Kazuya.”

Suga laughs out loud until he snorts. “Oh, my god, I get it now.” He wipes tears from his eyes as he wheezes, “Why you never want me to meet him. He’s _amazing_.”

“And now there’s two of them.” Kazuya huffs. “What do you want, Mei? We were busy.”

Mei snickers on the other side of the line. “I bet you were.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I wanted to know what you’re going to do.”

Kazuya shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do. If I did, I would just do it.”

“Kazuya could use some advice, Mei-san,” Suga interjects. “So if you have any practical experience that could help him get through this, I’d be happy to listen.”

Mei grows quieter than Suga figures is normal for him, and it’s chilling. Finally, he offers, “Move to America. Learn English, and be glad Americans are too stupid to learn Japanese so they’ll never find out.”

“Mei.” Kazuya rubs his face into his hands hard enough to leave red fingerprints on his forehead. “I’m not moving to another country. I’ve never even moved out of Tokyo before. Winter ball in Taiwan was hard enough.”

There’s a huff on the other end of the line. “It doesn’t have to be forever. Just until someone more interesting than you makes everyone forget about it.”

Kazuya snorts. “Gayer, you mean. I’m not gayer than you, Mei. Penguins farting rainbows aren’t gayer than you, so whatever you’re planning, it’s not going to work. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Spoilsport.”

Suga listens to this exchange in fascination, surprised that someone is able to meet Kazuya’s rapid-fire wit so readily. This Mei seems to know what buttons to push and which ones not to in order to play to Kazuya’s moods, and Suga wants to know everything about the man. This simple ability could mean the difference between Kazuya slowly self-destructing after being injured and then being outed, or powering through both with strength Suga has no doubt he possesses.

He just hopes one of them can find it before the former happens.

After this, Mei starts complaining about his love life a Kazuya hangs up with a soft smile.

"He seems . . ." Suga searches for a kind way to question how the two of them every became friends, only to be cut off by Kazuya's laughter.

"Like I said, Mei is Mei." He picks up his phone and flips it over to the other side of the room. The back clatters off, making Suga wince. "Now, where were we?"

Without waiting for an answer, Kazuya piles on top of Suga, hungrily tasting the soft skin at the base of his throat. Suga whines his appreciation as he roughly tugs at Kazuya's hair. As they seek out more territory to explore, they all but tear the clothes off of each other until they're naked and breathless and oozing need.

Suga straddles Kazuya, taking a moment away from the storm of hormones brewing in both of them, and strokes his stubbled cheek. "It's going to be okay, you know. I believe it."

“Suga-chan talks too much,” Kazuya murmurs as he clenches his strong fingers into the flesh of Suga’s bottom and slowly thrusts up into Suga. As he feels his body stretch around Kazuya, Suga’s jaw goes slack and his eyes squeeze shut as he hisses at the sensation.

Slowly, Suga rides Kazuya, drinking in the soft sounds of pleasure from below him as he chases his own. However, urgency wills out and soon finds Suga slamming his hips down hard enough to make his teeth chatter, pulling a ragged gasp of his name from Kazuya.

Kazuya comes without warning, his own expression showing the same surprise as Suga’s. “I —”

“It’s fine,” Suga groans as he screws his eyes shut, still hazy with need. “I can take care of it.”

“No.” Kazuya sits up and draws Suga closer. “Let me take care of you for a change.”

Their lips glance together before Kazuya maneuvers over Suga, his fingers drifting down to drag over Suga’s opening before sinking in. Kazuya swallows his shuddering moan, smirking against Suga’s mouth as he delves deeper and deeper, hitting just the right spot to make Suga’s vision blur before he comes hard, shaking underneath Kazuya’s weight as he, too, melts into the lazy recesses of the couch.

“Wow,” Suga murmurs, even as he wrinkles his nose at the sticky mess they both are. “That was nice.”

“Suga-chan is the nice one,” Kazuya remarks, nudging over just enough so they can slot together seamlessly. “I’m awful. Ask Youichi.”

Suga thinks about correcting Kazuya’s self-deprecating comment but refrains, instead recalling, “Speaking of . . . we should probably clean up before he gets back.”

Kazuya sighs. “If you insist.” He plants a kiss on the slope of Suga’s shoulder before setting out to search for his underwear. “I think we should probably leave out the part where we just had sex where he’s going to sleep for the next week.”

Eyes flying wide open, Suga’s hand can barely stifle the cry of distress as he realizes this. “We are so awful! Oh my —” He dives off of the couch and looks it over a dozen times for any visible sign of their admittedly sloppy bout of lovemaking. “I don’t see anything, but —” He takes a whiff of the fabric, frowning when he smells the evidence. “Oh, no.”

Behind him, Kazuya starts to laugh as he chucks Suga’s underwear towards him, not stopping even when he’s doubled over and teary-eyed. “This is going to be fun,” he wheezes between bouts of mirth.

“You’re horrible.” Suga scoops up their discarded clothing and marches into the bedroom to dump it on the bed. “Get dressed, and be nice!”

“Yes, Suga-chan.”

They both dress in no particular hurry, but Suga opts instead to snatch some sweats from Kazuya’s closet so they can more comfortably snuggle atop the covers on the bed. Kazuya switches on the television before Suga notices what he’s doing, and the subsequent stiffening of his entire body reminds Suga all too well about what had transpired just after Kazuya and Kuramochi had returned earlier.

“Kazuya, you don’t have to listen to that,” Suga insists as he reaches for the remote.

Kazuya holds it out and away, shaking his head. “It’s okay, Suga-chan. You don’t have to worry about this.”

Suga hoists himself up on his elbows and stares at Kazuya. “How can I not? This could take everything away from you!”

With a snort, Kazuya shrugs. “Like what? There isn’t anything I could lose that I haven’t already taken away from myself, so why should they be any different?”

“Are you sure?”

The question never gets answered. Instead, Kazuya settles in to watch a rerun of the same sports news program that had shocked Suga so badly, only to click it off after he sees the pictures he missed the first time.

They both watch the blank screen quietly, neither speaking until they hear the tell-tale sound of the door clicking open.

“I picked up dinner.” Kuramochi calls from the living room. “And stop doing that shit in the living room. I have to sleep here, you assholes!”

Suga can only chuckle along with Kazuya as they huddle even closer together. Kazuya kisses Suga on the forehead and closes his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about, Suga-chan. I have everything I need. I don’t need any of them.”

Heart swelling, Suga hums and wraps his arms around Kazuya’s waist. “Good.”


	9. Chapter 9

It doesn’t take long for the phone call to arrive. In fact, Suga isn’t surprised at all that Kazuya’s phone rings mere minutes after Kuramochi returns to the apartment with dinner. Their chopsticks all still in unison, and without a word, Kazuya leaves the table to answer it.

“That was fast,” Kuramochi remarks after Kazuya takes his phone into the living room. “Maybe he could try knitting.”

“Stop that!” Suga hisses, flicking Kuramochi with a chopstick. “This doesn’t mean he’s going to get fired. It just means they have a PR mess on their hands and he has to do his part.”

Kuramochi shrugs and stuffs a wad of noodles into his mouth. After a mammoth gulp, he says, “Either that, or they’ll make him promise to stop fuckin’ dudes. Then he’ll tell them where they can stick it, they’ll say ‘no thank you,’ and you’ll be seeing a lot more of him.”

Suga wants to rebut Kuramochi’s grim view of the situation, but he finds that he can’t. Kuramochi is more familiar with the pro baseball world than Suga will ever be, and if Kazuya’s best friend can’t think of a way out of this, that may be the reality Suga will have to accept.

And that reality sucks.

They half-heartedly eat for the next ten minutes, waiting for Kazuya to return to the kitchen and fill them in. However, when Kazuya sits down, he digs into his hibachi chicken with gusto, paying no mind to the pair of staring eyes boring into him as he eats.

“Well?” Kuramochi demands after a few minutes of this. “Spit it out, man.”

“Hmm?” Kazuya swallows his mouthful and sits down his chopsticks. “Oh, yeah. I have to do a press conference tomorrow.”

Waiting for the rest of an explanation that never comes, Suga leans in and prods, “And?”

“And what?” With a shrug, Kazuya takes a drink of his tea, inhaling its warm scent and smiling to himself. “You know what they want me to say. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

Kuramochi snorts before throwing a fried piece of tofu at Kazuya, which lands in the middle of his forehead and trickles down his face. “Don’t be a dick. He wants to know what you’re going to say.”

Suga’s hands clench around his cup as he takes an unsteady sip, quietly thanking Kuramochi for asking what Suga has neither the right nor the courage to ask. It has been the plan all along, with Suga posing as a consultant for Kazuya when asked publically about their relationship. Nobody sees, nobody knows.

But as he awaits Kazuya’s answer to Kuramochi’s blunt inquiry, Suga finds himself hoping for a different answer. An answer that doesn’t demand that either of them deny who and what they are. Even if it is the pinnacle of selfishness to want it, but Suga does so anyway.

“I’ll say what I have to,” Kazuya answers simply before resuming his meal, and that is the end of it.

His appetite all but gone, Suga chokes down a few more bites before excusing himself from the table. Legs unsteady beneath him, he flits about the apartment, gathering his things that are scattered in more places than he would think they should be and cramming them into a shopping bag.

As he plops the bag by the door, Suga nearly jumps out of his skin when a soft voice calls to him across the room. “Going somewhere?”

Suga turns to face Kuramochi, who is leaning against the now-bare wall with his arms crossed, his unwavering gaze trained on Suga.

With a shiver, Suga looks away. “I shouldn’t stay here tonight. If he’s going to deny everything to the press, it wouldn’t look good if someone saw me come here but not leave. And we know people are watching us, especially after all of that.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the television.

Kuramochi nods as he pushes off the wall and strides across the room. “Fair enough. I’ll walk you out.”

“But Kazuya —”

“He knows,” Kuramochi bites, voice ripe with scorn. “He better.”

Not bothering to wait for Suga, Kuramochi takes Suga’s belongings and heads towards the elevator. They ride it in silence, and outside the building, Kuramochi sits on the bench facing the street and Suga follows suit.

“How well do you think you know Miyuki?” Kuramochi says finally.

Suga absorbs the question, knowing the answer is far from simple. “Well,” he begins, “he’s closed off about a lot of things, but as far as I can tell, he’s never really lied to me. He just doesn’t bring it up.”

Hands turning over in his lap over and over, Suga huffs and adds, “He’s also sweet sometimes. He’ll never say it, but he craves being touched. Sometimes, he can’t sleep without it.”

“You know why that is?” Without waiting for Suga to answer, Kuramochi says, “It’s because he wants to be in control all the time, to look like this unmovable rock for anyone who cares to look. He spent his entire childhood alone at home because his dad missed his wife more than he wanted to see his son, who looked just like her. Being beaten up by upperclassmen because he was better at baseball than them and didn’t care who knew it. Took an entire team on his shoulders and carried all of us to Koushien.

“But it costs a lot to do that.” Kuramochi looks behind them to the window Suga figures is Kazuya’s. “He spends so much of himself trying to be this great big badass, but he barely ever takes anything in return.”

“And sometimes, he needs someone stronger than he is to do that for him,” Suga finishes, face buried in his hands. “Why am I such an idiot?”

Kuramochi’s hand covers Suga’s knee and gives it a squeeze. “You’re not stupid, Sugawara. He’s just a hard man to know and to actually like. He’s even harder to love, but once you do . . .”

“Fuck,” Suga squeaks, voice cracking as he leans into Kuramochi. A hiccupping sob heaves from his chest. “Why did this have to happen?”

His palm tracing warm circles on Suga’s back, Kuramochi pulls Suga into his side. “Hey, none of that.”

But Suga can’t stop. Hot, aching tears course down his face as he drips his grief on Kuramochi’s shoulder. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was just an arrangement, not some stupid ‘forever’ kind of thing.”

Kuramochi harrumphs. “Oh, you guys passed that a while back. Kazuya is —” He thumbs away Suga’s tears and nocks his chin up. “That’s just how he is. He’ll never say it out loud, but that stupid bastard loves you. Whatever front he’s pretending to put on to make it seem like something less is smoke and mirrors.”

“So he can keep his career?”

“Is that what he told you?” Kuramochi snorts and leans back on the bench. “Remind me to pretzel that dickhead when I get back upstairs. And you should forget about that thing where he never lies to you. He’s probably been doing it from the moment you guys met. It’s like a vitamin for him now.”

Hugging his arms to his chest, Suga feels cold all over. If Kuramochi’s right — and Suga is fairly certain he is — Kazuya is truly in love with Suga almost as much as Suga is sure he’s in love with Kazuya. Kuramochi is right about one thing, however: how they got here is irrelevant. What matters is how they move forward with what Suga now knows.

“I have to think,” Suga says as he stands, waving a hand at the curb. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to check up on you guys, and maybe I’ll have a better answer.”

Kuramochi nods. “I meant what I said. You’re a good guy. The right kind of good for what he needs, and the kind of guy I wish I could be. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is looking. But I’ve known that jackass for most of my life; I know what I see.”

Taken aback, Suga offers a hand to Kuramochi, tugging him off the bench and into a bear hug. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Kuramochi holds out his phone and shakes it in Suga’s direction. “Remember, you can always call me if you need to talk, or if you forget what it’s like to interact with normal human beings.”

“I’ll remember that,” Suga says truthfully as he picks up his belongings and carries them to the cab that has just pulled up in answer of his hail.

Dinner sits unhappily in Suga’s stomach as he churns over the events of the day. It had all started with a cheery breakfast, which already feels like a week ago and not a mere handful of hours. But under the weight of the sheer volume of events, Suga is _exhausted_.

After spending the past two days away, his own apartment feels strange and too quiet. As he puts the kettle on for a soothing cup of tea, he looks in two wrong cabinets before he finds it and his favorite mug.

When did that start happening?

Suga finishes his tea and heads straight to bed, despite it being barely after eight. Sleep comes quickly, but it is fitful and patchy as he wakes up every couple of hours to check his phone, making sure Kuramochi hasn’t called or texted with awful news of Kazuya losing his mind again.

When six comes, Suga wishes he would have stayed the night after all. Bleary-eyed, he again struggles to remember where he is while trying to make coffee before he gives up and decides to get some on the way to the train station.

The day drags by as he mindlessly records data, his thoughts solidly elsewhere. Kazuya’s press conference will have been over hours ago. He debates whether he wants to watch it on the team’s website during his lunch break, but he doesn’t. The idea of listening to Kazuya disavow the nature of their relationship for any and all to hear makes Suga’s skin crawl.

So he suffers through his day, feeling rather than seeing Akiyama’s gaze glued on him. When the day crawls to an end, Suga throws his things into his bag and makes a hasty exit, ready to go home — wherever that happens to be now — and just go back to sleep.

Out of habit, he chooses the line that will take him closer to Kazuya’s apartment and rides silently in the rush hour crush, oblivious to his surroundings. He nearly misses his stop, the doors slapping shut behind him reminding him that he has to shake this off before he sees Kazuya.

He gives the doorman a tight smile before heading by, opting for the elevator because the idea of three flights of stairs makes Suga even more bone-tired at the very thought. But when he gets to Kazuya’s door, he reaches out to put the key in the lock but freezes at the last moment, unsure if he should even be there, or if he has the right to just walk in any longer.

Too weary to juggle semantics, Suga shakes his head and enters to find Kazuya on the floor, his legs sticking up in the air while Kuramochi racks one of them back almost to Kazuya’s face while he counts to ten.

“Hey, Sugawara,” Kuramochi calls without looking up from stretching Kazuya’s legs. “We’ll make dinner after we’re done here.”

Kazuya’s eyes are closed as he groans at the stretch. “Hngg,” he moans before adding a breathless, “Hello, Suga-chan.”

“Thank you for helping him with that,” Suga says to Kuramochi before plopping on the floor next to Kazuya. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m being — push harder — bent in half,” he manages before sighing. “That’s good.”

Suga mentally reviews Kazuya’s prescribed stretching regimen, nodding in approval that, if they have followed the correct order, they’re over halfway through. He’ll try to remember to text Kageyama and let him know his instructions are being followed.

Opting not to kick the hornets’ nest about how Kazuya spent his morning, Suga instead flops on the couch and watches Kuramochi mercilessly bend Kazuya every which way. They finish off with both Kuramochi and Suga massaging Kazuya’s legs and shoulders.

They leave Suga on the couch in favor of making dinner. Too tired to do much else, Suga clicks on the television and immediately turns the channel away from the sports network lest he get an earful of Kazuya disowning their relationship publicly. He knows it had to be said, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it.

Suga settles on a mindless drama, indifferently watching an overly-attractive man demand that his overly-attractive girlfriend stop talking to their overly-attractive neighbor, eyelids drifting closed as they drone on. He doesn’t realize he’s drifted off until warm breath dances over his ear as he hears a whispered, “Suga-chan.”

Craning an unwilling eye open, Suga sees Kazuya’s smiling face looming over him, his hands curled around a heaping plate of food. “Dinner is ready, in case you couldn’t guess.”

“Thank you,” Suga says as he slides onto the floor and sits at the kotatsu. "It smells wonderful.”

“Yeah, we’re good like that,” Kuramochi chimes as he follows with two more plates, setting them down in front of himself and Kazuya. “He said you like spicy stuff, so, um, rest in pieces, Sugawara.”

The first taste is enough to buoy Suga’s spirits, the eye-watering tang of the chicken enough to make him forget for a moment that this is akin to a wake for the time he had been able to spend with Kazuya.

When that thought returns, however, his hand stills. The abrupt way he had told Kazuya to back off rushes back to him, pressing down until the weight of it makes Suga’s shoulders slump. If only he had known he wasn’t preventing himself from falling for Kazuya, when in fact he was merely reacting to the fact that he already had. It was all such a waste. “I’m sorry,” he ekes out aloud.

“What?” Kazuya quirks a brow over his mouthful of rice.

Suga shakes his head before hugging his knees as he leans back against the couch. “I thought everything was moving too fast, but I wasted so much time and now it’s over.”

Kuramochi gives him a strange look. “What are you —” He whips his head towards Kazuya with an accusatory glare. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“I was getting to that.” Kazuya pushes away his own plate and fits himself against Suga’s side, his warm hand covering Suga’s knee. “You didn’t watch the press conference, did you?”

Leaning into Kazuya, Suga sighs. “No. Why would I want to do that?”

Kuramochi gapes, jaw hanging open before rambling to his feet. “I’ll, um, just go do the dishes. You guys seriously have to talk.”

When they’re alone, Suga looks at Kazuya in askance. “What is he talking about?”

“I’ll show you.” Kazuya pulls out his phone and searches YouTube until he finds what he’s looking for. “A lot of news sites streamed it live. I’m sure you’d have seen it eventually, but better now than later.” He chortles. “I just hope you’re not mad.”

“Why would I be —”

Suga stops when he sees the title of the video. “Kazuya,” he gasps as the video starts.

Behind a podium decorated with the Swallows’ logo, Kazuya stands upright wearing one of the nicer outfits he and Suga had shopped for and his glasses instead of contacts. Cameras flash as a horde of reporters chatter waiting for Kazuya to start speaking.

Holding his hand up, Kazuya says, “Thank you all for coming. There have been some rumors circulating, and franchise management has asked me to clear a few things up. I’m inclined to agree.”

Kazuya gestures to a monitor on stage left, and the pictures of him and Suga flash by one after another. “These were taken without permission from me or the other person in the photo, and I now understand that my ability to play a game has made all of you feel entitled to information that is none of your business.

“We had a story concocted,” Kazuya adds with a chortle. “He helps me do things I can’t, won’t, or just don’t do for myself. And he does. He taught me how to dress myself for television. He made me see a physical therapist when the game I love so much took everything my body had to give and didn’t leave enough for me after it was done with me.

“But more than that, this man —” He gestures once again at the slide show, which is paused on the one of them holding hands. “— this man has done more for me in the month I’ve known him than everyone in this room put together.”

The room falls silent as Suga’s mouth hangs open. “So before any of you ask the stupidly obvious question I’m sure you want to, I’ll answer it for you:

“My name is Miyuki Kazuya, former catcher for the Tokyo Yakult Swallows. I’m a lifetime .298 batter, with 147 career home runs and a .493 strike percentage throwing out runners. I was courted by seven Major League Baseball teams and selected to the NPB All-Star Series that many times. And yes, I did it all while being gay. So what of it?”

With that, Kazuya strides off stage to a roar from the crowd and a small suit-clad man scurrying to the podium right before the feed cuts out.

Staring long after the video ends, Suga blinks as he processes it all. All day, he has wrestled with the knowledge that their blissful little bubble is gone and everything between them will change. That Kazuya will be more distant and untouchable, and that he will have to suffer the loss of his career alone. That Kazuya will always just be ‘my boyfriend’ during conversations at the lunch table at work instead of ‘Kazuya’.

Finally, Suga turns to Kazuya, who is slouched back against the couch cushion with a soft smile on his face, and in the faint glow of the setting sun through the gap in the curtains, Suga has never found him so beautiful.

“You said all of that for me?”

Kazuya turns and runs the backs of his fingers down the curve of Suga’s jaw. “’Course I did. You’re my Suga-chan.”

Frowning, Suga worries his lower lip and says, “But they outed you. That was such a horrible thing to do, and it’s because I wasn’t being careful.”

Shaking his head, Kazuya chuckles. “It’s been a long time since I cared what anyone else thought of me, but if I’m going to care about something like that, I’m glad that the ‘anyone else’ is you.”

As Suga’s brow rises in askance, Kazuya shrugs. “When Youichi told me why you left last night, that’s when I decided to say what I did. I hated the idea that somebody else thought they had the right to take you away from me and guilt trip you into doing their dirty work.

“I love you, Suga-chan.” Kazuya raises his hands and gently frames Suga’s face, thumb brushing over Suga’s quavering mouth. “No matter what happens, if I had to pick between you and everything else, it’ll always be you.”

“I thought you didn’t want that kind of thing,” Suga prods weakly, still unable to fully assimilate this moment past the din of blood rushing around his body and roaring in his ears.

“I didn’t.” Kazuya tilts Suga’s face and leans in until their mouths are less than a breath apart. “But ask Youichi, and he’ll tell you. I’m also an idiot.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Suga murmurs, “Yeah, but you’re my idiot. My Bakazuya.”

“That’s right.” When their lips meet in the middle, Suga’s entire body feels like it’s about to float to the top of the room, lifted by the weight that no longer exists between them.

Suga loves Kazuya, and Kazuya loves him. A lot of things are about to change, but as their mouths and hands rove for more of each other than they’ll ever be able to find in a hundred lifetimes, he realizes that maybe this part, this love story of theirs will always be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter, which will be more of an Epilogue than anything, and we're all done!


	10. Epilogue

**_Four Months Later_ **

“Oh, you _are_ coming on Saturday?” Suga grins into the receiver, struggling not to kick his feet in delight. “Excellent. It’ll be great to finally meet you.”

“You, as well, Sugawara.”

Suga chuckles at the watered down accent on the other end of the line, even as he wraps his jacket closer to his body to ward off the crisp November wind. “I’ll see you in a few days, then.”

“I look forward to it,” the other man answers.

“Bye-bye!” Suga sing-songs in English before ending the call.

Even as the breeze buffets his trenchcoat with an unseasonably chilly blast, Suga almost skips home from the train station, eager to _not_ share his great news because he wants it to be a surprise.

Eagerly plucking off his puddle-soaked shoes outside the door, Suga enters with a soft, “Tadaima.”

As it is wont to be these days, the apartment is silent, but he knows it won’t be for long. Sighing, he flings his messenger bag on the couch and peels off his shirt and tie on his way to the bedroom. After rummaging through the closet, he finds sweats and a giant hoodie he knows isn’t his, and drops backwards on the bed.

“Ow!” Suga gingerly rubs his elbow, which had collided with something small and hard nestled in the bedcovers. However, when he reaches around for it until he finds it, he blushes when he turns up the missing bottle of lube they had lost the night before and had been too sated, too boneless to care.

With a fond smile, he murmurs, “There you are.” Suga reaches over and plops it on the bedside table and adds, “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll probably need you again pretty soon.”

“I’m not sure I should even ask,” comes Kazuya’s voice from the doorway, ripe with mirth as he unties the belt of his chef’s jacket and lets the navy blue garment slip into a puddle on the floor unheeded. “How was your day, Suga-chan?”

Suga beams. “Oh, it was good. I’m doing parvo research, and some of my cultures are showing really promising data.”

“Then it’s an excellent day.” Kazuya tugs Suga closer to him, jutting their hips together as he gives Suga a soft kiss on the forehead. “I missed you.”

“You say that every day.” Suga lists up on the tips of his toes and brushes his mouth against Kazuya’s. “But I missed you, too.”

“I’ll stop saying it when I stop meaning it.”

With a swat on Suga’s bottom, Kazuya resumes shedding his uniform. Here and there, his jaw will stiffen as he bends his knees, but Suga can’t help but note the increased fluidity of his movement and the lack of the awkward gait he’d had when they first met. Spending every weekend with Kageyama’s brutally talented hands is doing him a lot of good, Suga thinks.

Kazuya’s clothes end up in a heap on the floor, and Suga moves to pick up the clutter. After all, Suga’s apartment isn’t nearly as roomy as Kazuya’s old place, so keeping it neat is both easier and more necessary.

He thinks back on a particular night a couple of months ago, after Kazuya had spent the entire day not answering the phone, only to show up at Suga’s doorstep with an almost empty bank account, a receipt for a full four years at culinary arts school, and the biggest, broadest smile Suga has ever seen on him.

After his media firestorm of a press conference, Kazuya had been the talk of the entire country, with news of it reaching even all the way to America. In the face of a mixture of pressure and criticism, the Swallows’ management had been quick to affirm that Kazuya’s job was not in danger because of his sexuality. However, Kazuya had been even quicker in telling them that he was not interested in maintaining his role as their token PR puppet and quit. Without a good reason to hold onto his contract, he was released the next day.

The next couple of months were a mixture of many things for both of them. Suga filled up on home-cooked meals every day, with a sprinkling of cooking lessons which reaffirmed that Kazuya should stay in the kitchen and Suga should stay out of it. Their wardrobes slowly meshed into an organic thing, with half of Kazuya’s clothes in Suga’s closet and vice versa. Where they slept varied, but the more time moved forward, the less either of them did so alone.

But when Kazuya had signed himself up for school, Suga knew that both of them were ready for the next step. Kazuya had left his old life and old angst behind, and Suga had just fully acclimated to his own new surroundings.

It was a whirlwind of an evening: Kazuya’s school sign-up, Suga’s readiness for something more, and the excited invitation for Kazuya to move in with him to top it all off.

Kazuya tried to talk Suga out of it five separate times, but in the end, he accepted. “It’s closer to a good train stop,” he reasoned, but Suga could see the way the lines around his eyes softened as he took Suga’s hands in his and held them up to his lips. “You’re too good for me, Suga-chan. You know that, right?”

Suga had shaken his head at this. “No, Kazuya. You deserve the best I can give you.” After tugging his boyfriend as close as he could without them melting into each other, he added, “I’m just lucky I get to be selfish and do that at the same time.”

So box by box and then day by day, they carved out a rhythm in their life together, and the fresh start had given Kazuya a new lease on life.

The world of baseball passed them both by, which made it all the more of a surprise when Suga’s phone rang on the ride home from work not two weeks after Kazuya moved in from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was deep, vibrant, and definitely foreign, Suga thought as the man answered in flat Japanese. “Sugawara Koushi?”

“That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“You’re the guy from the pictures, right?”

Suga’s stomach had dropped. Looking around on the train, he made a dash for the train lavatory before he hissed, “Listen, if you’re looking for a story, I’m not going to give you one.”

“No!” After a garbled groan, the man said, “I just want to know if he’s okay.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Chris. I’m an old friend.”

Suga’s eyes flew open at that name. “ _You’re_ Chris-senpai? How did you even get my number?”

“Kuramochi.” Chris chuckled. “He still calls me that?”

“Yeah.” Suga smiled into the receiver. “You’re kind of his hero. He’ll never admit it, but you mean a lot to him.”

“It’s been a long time. I’m surprised he even remembers me.”

But as Chris had said this, a shred of a memory leaked into Suga’s mind. Broken glass and a ruined poster scattered around while Kazuya mourned in the middle. Heart lurching at the memory, Suga took a deep breath before asking, “Would I be able to ask you for a favor?”

“Of course.”

“This might sound like a weird request, but could you maybe, um . . . find a poster of yourself, sign it, and send it to Kazuya?”

“Hmm.” Chris was silent for a moment before he finally answered. “Yes and no.” Suga wilted a little before Chris continued, “I’ll definitely do the poster, but I’d much rather give it to him in person.”

“But — but you’re in America!”

“Mmmhmm. For now. I’m retiring after this season and I’m moving back to Japan. My dad misses me, even if he won’t say so, and it’s about time to start a family.”

Suga had to sit down on the toilet just so he could kick his feet in glee. “That’s great! Kazuya will —” His thoughts changed gears mid-sentence. “Do you want me to tell him?”

“Up to you, Sugawara-san.”

“Then I’ll see if I can keep a secret that long.”

After that, they exchanged contact information, and after he hung up, Suga felt like this might have been just what Kazuya needed to take that last, next step into the future without giving up his past completely.

And now that meeting is only days away, and Suga hopes that seeing Chris again will be that one last key to Kazuya’s many doors to let him live the rest of his life like he hasn’t already lost it.

Even as Kazuya’s mouth roves over the slope of Suga’s shoulder, Suga fights the urge to moan and says, “Kazuya, you’re not busy on Saturday, right?”

“Nope.” Teeth graze the sensitive surface of Suga’s throat, making him shiver. “Do you want me to be?”

“No!” Battling for breath, Suga wheezes, “An old friend is flying in, and I want to meet him at the airport.”

“Do I know this friend?”

“Maybe.” Trying not to let the cat out of the bag any more than he already has under duress, Suga shakes his head. “Enough of who it is. I’d really like you to come.”

Kazuya stops and gives Suga a searching look. “Won’t Kageyama-kun be irritated that I’ll miss our regular appointment?”

Suga grins. “I’ll deal with Kageyama. Can you come?”

“Whatever Suga-chan wants.”

Sure his surprise is intact, Suga pushes thoughts of Chris away and succumbs to the beautiful man in his arms who smells suspiciously like beef and wonders if he’ll ever be as happy as he is now.

 

**_Three Days Later_ **

Narita International Airport is the busiest place Suga has ever been. Humming with life, there are people from everywhere Suga can imagine casually making their way through queues and the flow of foot traffic.

But beside him, Kazuya fiddles with his phone while they wait at the baggage claim. With a sharp elbow to his side, Suga grumbles, “Pay attention, or we might miss him.”

“Calm down, Suga-chan.” Kazuya rubs his side and chortles. “I don’t even know who I’m —”

Suga knows that, as soon as Kazuya’s jaw drops, that he sees who they’re waiting for. He’s about as tall as Kazuya and definitely as attractive, but that’s where the similarities stop. His long, confident gait as he heads to the bag carousel exudes confidence and vitality, while the stern line of his jaw belies the good-natured man Suga has come to know over the phone.

“He’s waiting for you,” Suga says softly, nudging Kazuya’s shoulder in Chris’s direction. “Go say ‘hi’.”

“This is who you’ve been talking to on the phone?” Kazuya blinks and gawks at Suga. “How did he even —”

They both smile as they meet each other’s gazes and say in unison, “Kuramochi.”

“Go,” Suga urges. “I’m right behind you.”

Shaky on his feet for reasons Suga doesn’t think have anything to do with his faulty knees, Kazuya starts his way through the flood of travelers over to the bag carousel, where Chris finally identifies his suitcase and turns towards the doors.

Kazuya stops short, but Chris smiles softly and holds out a hand. “It’s been a long time, Miyuki.”

“How are you, Chris-san?”

Chris chuckles and finishes the handshake. “Just Chris is fine. No one’s used an honorific for me in years. It’s kind of weird now.”

“Your accent changed.” Kazuya tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and shrugs a little. “You probably didn’t speak Japanese much over there.”

Shaking his head, Chris chortles and answers, “Not really. Just a few places and when I talk to my dad on the phone.”

“But your dad is American,” Kazuya marks with a laugh. “And his Japanese is terrible.”

Chris sighs. “I think it’s actually worse now than before.”

Suga watches them slip into some form of ease before he comes up and holds out his own hand. “It’s great to finally meet you, Chris.”

“Same here.” Chris shakes Suga’s hand before pulling him into a hug. In Suga’s ear, Chris whispers, “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” Suga answers back, relieved that this meeting is as important to Kazuya’s former senpai as he knows it is to Kazuya. “So, are you staying at your dad’s until you get your own place?”

Shrugging, Chris says, “I’m not sure, but I think I’m just going to stay with him. I don’t want him to be alone in that big house anymore.”

“I know the feeling.” Suga reaches out and plucks Kazuya’s hand from his pocket and asks, “Would you like to join us for lunch, or would you prefer to rest?”

Chris gives Suga a weak smile. “Both?”

Kazuya grins. “Come back to our place, and I’ll fix something.”

“I’d like that.”

Suga takes Chris’s suitcase and they head out to the curb to take a cab back to the apartment rather than the train. While he isn’t sure how famous Chris is here in Japan for his baseball career, he doesn’t want someone to notice Kazuya and start an indecent public spectacle. There hasn’t been an incident in a couple of months, but just to be sure, Suga would rather make sure Chris isn’t privy to any of that.

By the time they arrive, Chris is already nodding off on Kazuya’s shoulder. They shuffle out and take the lift, and Suga holds his breath a little before opening the door.

Ever since That Day, as Suga thinks of it now, there has been little evidence of baseball in either of their abodes. Suga doesn’t miss the expanses of baseball memorabilia, but the one thing Kuramochi had not been able to rescue had been the poster. The poster which Chris hopefully has tucked away in his suitcase which Suga will happily put anywhere Kazuya wants it if it will help make peace with his past.

While Chris dozes on the couch, Suga follows Kazuya into the kitchen and closes the door. “I’m glad he’s sticking around. He speaks very highly of you.”

“He barely knows me anymore.” Kazuya starts the rice cooker and starts on dicing vegetables. “I’m surprised he even thought of me.”

Suga shakes his head. “He was worried about you when he found out about the press conference. He got my number from Kuramochi and called me to make sure you were okay.”

“He did?” Kazuya’s eyes widen, and the hand mindlessly chopping a zucchini stills. “When?”

“As soon as he found out.” Suga hugs Kazuya’s arm and plants a kiss on his shoulder. “You’re not alone anymore, you know.”

Kazuya reddens, even as his lips tug into a smile. Continuing his food prep, he answers with a soft, “I know.”

Lunch is finished quickly, with Suga shaking a jet-lagged Chris awake, sure that whatever they serve on a long flight can’t be enough to keep up his energy. Chris starts to disagree before he catches a whiff of the smell wafting in from the kitchen.

“He really is good at it, isn’t he?”

Suga nods. “It’s what he would have done if baseball hadn’t happened. It makes him happy, and not blowing my budget on takeout makes me happy. It’ll be tight while he goes to school, but it’s worth it.” Casting a fond glance towards the kitchen, he adds, “All I want is for him to find himself again.”

“He already has,” Chris comments as he wearily pulls himself off the couch. “He’s got you. I’ve known him since he was twelve, and I’ve never seen him this happy away from a baseball field before.”

Blushing, Suga ducks his head and leads the way into the kitchen. “Smells great, Kazuya.”

“Agreed.” Chris takes a seat at the table next to Suga. “I knew you were in cooking school, but I didn’t think you’d be this good already.”

Suga waves a hand. “Oh, he could do this before. He made me eat real food, and I made him dress like an adult.”

“It was our thing,” Kazuya says as he puts the steaming dishes on the table. “If I’d known you were coming, I could have prepared better.”

Chris shakes his head. “This looks amazing, Kazuya. Thank you for your hospitality.” He bows his head.

At the sound of his given name on his childhood hero’s lips, Suga can see Kazuya’s breath catch. He had made a point out of telling Chris that it’s part of Kazuya’s life now, not being just ‘Miyuki’ to everyone, but being himself. With this moment, he knows that that instinct had been a correct one.

After a short blessing, they eat, with Chris answering so many of Kazuya’s questions about his career and his plans afterward. To Suga’s surprise, Kazuya recommends Kageyama as a mentor when Chris mentions wanting to go into sports medicine.

They soon retire to the couch, where Suga gives Chris a meaningful look. Nodding, Chris finds his suitcase and pulls out a slender cardboard tube.

“Sugawara mentioned that you might want this,” Chris says as he hands it off to Kazuya. “It’s a little embarrassing, but he says you’ll know what it means.”

Kazuya takes it, pops off the plastic stopper on the end, and lets the glossy roll of paper slide out into his hands. Suga is just as captivated as he unfurls it to reveal something he doesn’t expect.

Instead of one of his American teams, Chris is decked out in his old Swallows uniform, a team he had only been on for a year before being scouted by an American franchise, gone the year before Kazuya had made the squad. Bat slung over his shoulders and hat planted sideways on his head, Chris’s smile is as warm as the message scrawled in Sharpie at the bottom.

_I miss the days when we wore the same uniform, so here’s hoping this is close enough to remember them along with me.  
– Chris_

Suga looks up in time to see Kazuya’s hands shake, his grip rattling the poster as he screws his eyes shut and lolls his head back.

“Thank you, Chris,” Suga says as he takes the poster and rolls it up. “I think that’s just right.”

Reaching over, he slings an arm around Kazuya’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s let Chris sleep a little.”

“Yeah,” comes Kazuya’s raspy voice as he follows Suga into their bedroom, dropping fully clothed onto the bed and stares unseeing at the television Suga flicks on. “I — how did he know?”

“He didn’t, but it isn’t hard to figure out how much it means to you to share this one thing with the people you cared about the most.” Burrowing into Kazuya’s side, Suga adds, “Youichi saved most of your pictures, by the way. Anytime you want them back, all you have to do is ask.”

“You two did that for me?” Kazuya reaches out and brushes the backs of his fingers on Suga’s cheek. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Taking Kazuya’s hand in his, Suga turns just a little to graze a kiss on those knuckles, no longer baseball-hardened but kitchen-scarred, and smiles. “No luck involved. Just a little spilled coffee.”

Kazuya chuckles. “Was that really only five months ago?”

“Long enough for a lifetime.”

As he throws the comforter over them, Suga turns the television to the least annoying thing he can find as he murmurs into Kazuya’s chest, “Happy birthday, Kazuya.”

“Oh, was that today?” Kazuya harrumphs. “I actually forgot.”

“Let’s get cake.”

Both of them smile and look at the closed door. “Later.”

“Definitely later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Wow, what a ride. I haven't written a story this long in years. I hope you enjoyed reading, and that you can find some room in your heart for this pairing. Maybe enough to write or art it? *winkwink*
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
